The  Indians 

^ 
The  Terraced  Houses 


Charles  Francis  Saunders 


A  Snake  Priest  of  Walpi  in  dance  attire. 

(Copyright  by  A.  C.  Vroman.) 


The   Indians   of   the 
Terraced  Houses 


Charles   Francis   Saunders 


With  numerous  illustrations  from  photographs  mainly  by 
C.  F.  and  E.  H.  Saunders 


"  These  people,  since  they  are  few,  and  their  manners,  govern 
ment,  and  habits  are  so  different  from  all  the  nations  that  have  been 
seen  and  discovered  in  these  western  regions,  must  have  come  from 
that  part  of  Greater  India,  the  coast  of  which  lies  to  the  west  of 
this  country." — The  Narrative  of  Castaneda,  Coronado's 
Chronicler,  1540-42. 


G.   P.   Putnam's  Sons 

New    York    and    London 

£be  fmfcfcerbocfoer  press 

1912 


e  f.  AC, 

COPYRIGHT,  i 


CHARLES  FRA^CfS  SAUNDERS 


ftnicfeerbocher 


So 

THE    EVER-PRESENT   MEMORY    OF 
MY    WIFE 

THE  INSPIRATION  OF  OUR  JOURNEYINGS  AND  STUDIES  AMONG  THE 

PUEBLO   PEOPLE   WHOM   SHE   LOVED — THIS  VOLUME 

IS  LOVINGLY   INSCRIBED 


H69O92 


Introductory 

But  the  Author  would  LiKe  to  Have  It  Read 

WHEN  we  decided  on  our  way  to  Cali 
fornia,  a  few  years  ago,  to  stop  off 
for  a  week  in  New  Mexico's  quaint 
old  capital,  we  had,  in  common  with  most  Ameri 
cans,  as  little  interest  in  Indians  as  in  South  Sea 
Islanders,  and  as  little  knowledge  of  them. 

To  be  sure,  we  remembered  in  a  general  way 
from  our  school-books  that  the  Indian  had  been 
a  troublesome  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  our  push 
ing  pioneers;  and  that  the  Government  now  has 
him  systematically  in  hand  under  an  Indian  pol 
icy  operated  from  Washington,  often  with  great 
injustice  to  the  red  man,  we  also  thought  we 
knew  from  Ramona  and  one  or  two  less  popular 
romances. 

Furthermore,  we  were  aware  that  there  are  in 
the  land  Indian  schools  wherein  the  aboriginal 
youth  are  drilled  in  the  white  man's  better  way,  to 


vi  INTRODUCTORY 

the  great  comfort  of  the  philanthropic  taxpayer, 
and  the  credit  of  the  Government,  if  we  were  to 
believe  the  pieces  in  the  magazines  and  family 
newspaper,  especially  at  Commencement  time. 

That  there  was  any  other  sort  of  Indian,  how 
ever,  than  the  warpath-treading,  scalp-raising 
stock  of  the  novels  and  the  Wild  West  shows,  we 
did  not  know.  We  did  not  know  that,  in  our 
South -West,  there  dwells  a  very  different  type  of 
Indians— the  Pueblos — who,  even  at  the  time  of 
the  discovery  of  America,  were  experienced  stone- 
house  builders  and  town-dwellers,  devotees  of 
peace  and  order,  with  a  fairly  well  developed 
civilisation  of  their  own;  who  were  then,  and  still 
are,  industrious,  self-governing  agriculturists,  and 
who  have  never  been  at  war  with  the  United 
States.  It  was  a  revelation  to  us  when  we  learned 
that  more  than  a  score  of  these  settled,  picturesque 
Pueblo  communities  still  exist  in  northern  New 
Mexico  and  Arizona,  striving  to  live  on  in  their 
ancient  way  as  well  as  our  Government  will  let 
them. 

Our  state  of  ignorance  at  that  time,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  is  still  shared  by  the  major  part 
of  our  fellow-citizens;  and  it  is  in  the  hope  of 


INTRODUCTORY  vii 

directing  more  general  attention  to  what  our 
country  possesses  in  that  remarkable  aboriginal 
remnant — the  Indians  of  the  Terraced  Houses, 
as  an  old  Spanish  chronicler  called  them — that 
this  book  has  been  written. 

With  the  hope  goes  the  earnest  prayer  that 
something  will  be  sympathetically  done  by  the 
people  of  our  great  Republic  to  arrest  the  dis 
integration  and  sure  extinction  of  these  little 
Pueblo  republics — an  extinction  towards  which 
the  present  well-intended  but  misdirected  govern 
mental  interference  is  inevitably  tending.  What 
John  Fiske,  in  his  preface  to  The  Discovery  of 
America,  states  of  one  section  of  the  Pueblos— 
the  Hopis — is  true  of  them  all: 

Some  extremely  ancient  types  of  society  [says  this 
American  historian],  still  preserved  on  this  continent 
in  something  like  purity,  are  among  the  most  instruc 
tive  monuments  of  the  past  that  can  now  be  found  in 
the  world.  Such  a  type  is  that  of  the  Moquis  of 
north-eastern  Arizona.  I  have  heard  a  rumour  .  .  . 
that  there  are  persons  who  wish  the  United  States 
Government  to  interfere  with  this  peaceful  and  self- 
respecting  people,  break  up  their  pueblo  life,  scatter 
them  in  farmsteads,  and  otherwise  compel  them, 
against  their  own  wishes,  to  change  their  habits  and 


vin 


INTRODUCTORY 


customs.  If  such  a  cruel  and  stupid  thing  were  ever 
to  be  done,  we  might  justly  be  said  to  have  equalled 
or  surpassed  the  folly  of  the  Spaniards  who  used  to 
make  bonfires  of  Mexican  hieroglyphics. 

That  very  " cruel  and  stupid  thing"  is  now  being 
done  and  more,  doubtless,  is  contemplated.  If 
any  steps  to  stop  it  are  to  be  taken,  they  need  to 
be  taken  quickly;  for  the  native  arts  and  customs 
of  the  Pueblos  and  their  individuality  as  a  people 
have  suffered  more  in  the  last  decade  or  two  of 
Washington  than  during  the  whole  three  centuries 
of  Spanish  domination;  and  as  a  body  going  down 
hill  goes  the  faster  the  nearer  it  gets  to  the  bot 
tom,  so  the  Pueblo  deterioration  hastens  with  each 
returning  year. 

I  know  no  more  direct  way  to  enlist  an  interest 
in  these  unique  citizens  of  the  United  States  than 
to  start  at  the  beginning  and  tell  what  awakened 

ours. 

C.  F.  S. 

PASADENA,  CALIFORNIA. 


AcKnowledgment 

The  author  is  indebted  to  the  editors  of  The 
International  Studio,  Sunset  Magazine,  and  The 
Pacific  Monthly,  for  their  courteous  permission  to 
reproduce  in  this  work,  parts  of  certain  articles 
which  he  contributed  to  those  periodicals. 


Contents 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 

OF  OUR  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  THE  PUEBLO  INDIAN; 
OF  TESUQUE  AND  HOW  WE  TOOK  A  PHOTO 
GRAPH  THERE  .:....! 

CHAPTER  II 

OF  ACOMA,  PUEBLO  OF  THE  SKY;  HOW  EDWARD 
HUNT  FOUND  US  LODGINGS  THERE;  AND  OF 
THE  FIESTA  OF  SAN  ESTEBAN  .  .  .14 

CHAPTER  III 

OF  WHAT  BEFELL  US  UNDER  THE  ROCK  OF  ACOMA, 

AND  HOW  WE   TURNED  CLIFF  DWELLERS  .         32 

CHAPTER  IV 

OF  THE  PUEBLOS  OF  THE  RAILROAD  SIDE,  LAGUNA 
AND  ISLETA,  AND  HOW  MANUEL  CARPIO  SANG 
IN  THE  SUN 43 

CHAPTER  V 

OF  THE  THREE  PUEBLOS  OF  THE  JEMEZ  RIVER 
VALLEY,  AND  SOMEWHAT  OF  JOHN  PAUL,  THE 
COWHEAD  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  53 


xii  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  VI 

OF  OTHER  PUEBLOS  OF  THE  UPPER  RIO  GRANDE, 
AND  HOW  SANTIAGO  QUINTANA  TRAVELLED 
FOR  SHELLS .......  69 

CHAPTER  VII 
OF  CERTAIN  PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE  .  .84 

CHAPTER  VIII 
OF  TAGS  AND  THE  WAY  THITHER          ...         97 

CHAPTER  IX 

OF  THE  FIESTA  OF  SAN  GERONIMO  AT  TAOS,  AND 

THE  DELIGHT  MAKERS  .  .  .  .       1 05 

CHAPTER  X 

OF  PICURIS  IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  PENITENTES, 
AND  HOW  FRANCISCO  DURAN's  MOTHER  COULD 
NOT  FORGET 112 

CHAPTER  XI 

OF    ANCIENT    ZUNI,    AND    HOW    THE    CONQUISTA- 

DORES  CAME  TO  DISCOVER  IT  .  .125 

CHAPTER  XII 
OF  ZUNI  IN  THE  RAIN,  AND  OF  ZUNI  DICK  .       130 

CHAPTER  XIII 

OF  HOUSEKEEPING  IN  ZUNI,  AND  HOW  ZUNI  DICK 

HELPED  US  TO  BUY  MEAT        .  .  .  .137 


CONTENTS  xiii 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OF    SA-WI-ETSI-TSITA,   HOW   SHE   MADE    US    JARSJ 

AND  SOMEWHAT  OF  ZUNI  BABIES     .  .  .142 

CHAPTER  XV 

OF    A    ZUNI    GRINDING    SONG,    AND    OF    PRAYER 

PLUMES 148 

CHAPTER  XVI 
OF  THE  NIGHT  DANCE   OF   THE   SHALAKO   GODS         153 

CHAPTER  XVII 

OF   THE    EIGHT    PUEBLOS    OF    MOQUI,    AND   THE 

WAY  THITHER       .  .  .  .  .  .167 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

OF     THE     LIFE    IN    MOQUI ;     AND  A  HINT    OF    ITS 

LATTER-DAY  TROUBLES 1 82 

CHAPTER  XIX 

OF    HOTAVILA,    THE    EIGHTH    PUEBLO   OF   MOQUI, 

AND    HOW    IT    LOOKED    BLACKLY   AT    US  .       IQ2 

CHAPTER  XX 
OF   WALPI,   AND   THE    SNAKE   DANCE   THERE         .      2O3 

CHAPTER  XXI 
OF  THE  ARTS  OF  THE  PUEBLOS,  ESPECIALLY  THE 

CERAMIC  .  •  •      220 


xiv  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XXII 

OF  THE  NATIVE  GOVERNMENT  OF  THE  PUEBLOS, 

AND  THEIR  POLITICAL  STATUS  UNDER  OURS     .       233 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
OF  THE  NATIVE  RELIGION  OF  THE  PUEBLOS  .       240 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

OF  WHAT  THE  UNITED  STATES  POSSESSES  IN  THE 
PUEBLO     INDIAN — BEING     A     BRIEF     SUMMING 

UP    .         .        .        .         .        .        .         .     247 

CHAPTER  XXV 

OF  WHAT  OUR  GOVERNMENT  IS  DOING  WITH  THE 

PUEBLO 253 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
OF  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  PUEBLO,  IF  HE  HAS  ANY      272 

APPENDICES 

A  TABLE  OF  APPROXIMATE  POPULATION  OF  EACH 

PUEBLO    IN    1910  .  .  .  .  .       277 

GLOSSARY     AND     PRONUNCIATION     OF     SPANISH- 
AMERICAN   AND   INDIAN    TERMS       .  .  .       282 

A   PARTIAL    PUEBLO   BIBLIOGRAPHY  .  .  .       285 

INDEX  .  ...  .  .  .       291 


Illustrations 

PACK 

A  Snake  Priest  of  Walpi  in  dance  attire 

Frontispiece 

Tesuque  plaza  and  church,  on  a  feast  day.    The 
crowd  is  watching  a  ceremonial  dance     .         .         6 

A  street  in  Acoma  .          .         .         .         .14 

Spanish  church,  forty  years  in  building,  Acoma. 
All  the  material  was  brought  up  on  Indians' 
backs,  from  the  plain  350  feet  below  .  .  20 

The  tombe*  beater,  Acoma.  Fiesta  of  San 
Esteban  .......  26 

The  melon  sellers,  Acoma,  on  San  Esteban  day    .       28 
Women  dancers,  Acoma.     Fiesta  of  San  Esteban       30 

Great  Rock  of  Acoma  from  the  north-east. 
Sky-line  of  Acoma  pueblo  at  right  of  middle 
notch 38 

Acoma  from  the  church  belfry,  looking  towards 
the  Enchanted  Mesa,  seen  in  the  middle 
distance 42 

Pottery  seller,  Isleta       .         .         .  46 

The  estufa,  pueblo  of  Isleta       ....       50 

Saline  flats  of  the  Jemez  River  at  Santa  Ana 
pueblo,  which  lies  unseen  under  the  mesa.  The 

XV 


xvi  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

pueblo  farms  are  ten  miles  distant  across 
a  desert  over  which  the  crops  are  hauled  each, 
autumn  to  the  home  pueblo  .  .  .  .  58 

Ysidro,  Governor  of  Sia,  in  native  attire     .          .       60 

Eagle  cage  on  housetop,  Jemez.  Eagles  are  kept 
in  captivity  for  the  sake  of  the  feathers  for 
ceremonial  use  ......  68 

A  Pueblo  woman  bearing  water  home  from  the 
well.  Open-air  ovens  in  background  .  .  72 

A  Tesuque  mother  and  baby.  The  child  is 
asleep  in  the  cradle  swinging  by  cords  from 
beams  in  the  ceiling  .  .  .  .  .86 

San  Juan  woman  in  her  doorway.  Note  the 
boot-like  moccasins,  worn  in  certain  pueblos  .  94 

North  pueblo,  Taos.  The  governor  stands  on  the 
uppermost  roof  making  an  announcement  to 
the  people 98 

South  pueblo  of  Taos,  early  morning        .          .102 

Fiesta  of  San  Geronimo,  Taos.  The  crowd  is 
gathered  to  watch  the  foot-races.  .  .  .106 

Raising  the  greased  pole,  Taos.  Fiesta  of  San 
Geronimo  ....  .  .  .  108 

A  Taos  Indian  and  Mexicans  on  the  way  to  a 
fiesta  .  .  .  .  .  .  .no 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xvii 


Towa-yalleni,  Zuni's  sacred  mountain,  in  the 
snow  .......  130 

Women  burning  pottery,  Zufii          .          .          .142 

A  Zuni  man  knitting  his  wife's  leggings.  The 
men  also  run  the  sewing-machine,  when  a 
household  owns  one  .  .  .  .  .146 

Si'na-he  (Zufii  Dick)  making  beads,  Zuni.  The 
loom  at  his  back  holds  an  unfinished  blanket 
on  which  his  wife  was  at  work  before  the  pho 
tograph  was  taken.  She  got  out  of  the  way, 
being  afraid  of  the  camera  .  .  .  .152 

The  Zufii  shrine  He'-patina,  believed  by  the 
Zunis  to  be  the  centre  of  the  earth,  which  in 
their  view  is  flat  .  .  .  .  .164 

Shipau'luvi,  Moqui,  acropolis-like  on  a  hilltop 
overlooking  the  Painted  Desert  .  .  .168 

Chief  Snake  Priest  of  Walpi,  hoeing  his  corn  two 
or  three  days  after  the  Snake  Dance.  Note 
how  short  the  stalks  are,  yet  they  are  full 
grown.  The  man  is  but  five  feet  high  .  .170 

A  Hopi  potter  preparing  to  fire  pottery  bowls. 
Her  home  is  on  the  distant  mesa  top,  but  she 
has  come  down  here  because  a  nearby  corral 
affords  abundant  fuel  of  dried  sheep  manure  .  1 82 

A  corner  of  a  pueblo  of  the  Second  Mesa, 
Moqui  .......  186 


xviii  ILL  USTRA  TIONS 


A  blanket  weaver.  Second  Hopi  Mesa.  Among 
the  Hopis,  the  men  are  the  weavers — the 
reverse  of  the  Navajo  custom  .  .  .,190 

A  Beau  Brummel  of  H6tavila.          .          .          .198 

Walpi,  like  a  mediaeval  fortress,  on  the  edge 
of  the  Painted  Desert .....  202 

Mealing  stones  on  which  Pueblo  women  grind 
their  corn  .......  206 

Snake  Rock,  Walpi.  "  Boy-afraid-of-the- 
Camera"  and  his  grandmother  .  .  .210 

Nampeyo  of  Tewa  moulding  a  water-jar.  No 
wheel  is  ever  used  by  Pueblo  potters  .  m.  220 

A  collection  of  Moqui  ware — very  distinct  from 
all  other  Pueblo  pottery  both  in  form  and 
decoration  ......     224 

Water-jar  of  San  Ildefonso  and  Cochiti  with 
bird  decorations  symbolical  of  lightness.  .  224 

Zuni  ware,  a  feature  of  which  is  the  frequent 
use  of  animal  forms  in  the  designs — deer,  frogs, 
butterflies,  etc.  The  jar  decorated  in  curves 
and  lines,  depicts,  as  explained  by  the  potter 
who  made  it  for  the  author,  a  pueblo  (blocks 
against  which  rest  poles  with  cross-pieces 
representing  ladders)  and  rain  (vertical  lines) 
descending  from  clouds  (arches)  above.  .  226 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xix 


Black  lustrous  ware  of  Santa  Clara  and  San 
Juan.  The  only  ornamentation  used  is  a  slight 
moulding,  as  along  the  bulging  edge  of  the 
double-necked  jar  in  the  foreground.  .  .  226 

Water- jars  of  Acoma.  The  prevalent  designs 
are  suggested  by  flower  and  leaf  forms.  The 
older  potters  often  introduced  figures  of  birds, 
as  in  the  upper  right-hand  jar,  symbolising 
lightness  .......  228 

Water- jars  of  Santo  Domingo.  This  ware 
is  distinguished  by  an  especial  grace  of 
shape  and  a  remarkable  scheme  of  decoration 
in  triangles,  circles,  and  other  geometric 
forms  .......  228 

A  basket  maker  of  Mishong'-novi,  Moqui          .     230 

A  cupid  of  Shimo  povi.  The  very  small  children 
go  unattired  in  summer  in  Moqui  .  .  238 

Husking  corn  on  a  Zuni  housetop.  Flush  times 
for  the  burros  ....  .  248 

A  man  of  Taos,  in  native  dress.  Sheets  are  worn 
in  lieu  of  blankets  in  warm  weather  .  .  254 

A  ' '  little  mother ' '  of  the  pueblo.  It  is  a  duty  of 
the  little  Pueblo  girls  to  attend  their  baby 
brothers  and  sisters,  when  the  parents  are 
busy  .......  260 


xx  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Piki-bread  maker,  Sichumovi.  The  bread  is 
baked  on  a  flat,  griddle-like  stone  over  a 
small  fire  .  .  .  .  .  .  264 

Pueblo  women  baking  wheaten  bread  at  the 
outdoor  ovens  ......  266 

A  little  maid  of  Taos  in  native  attire        .         .268 
Map At  End 


The  Indians  of  the  Terraced  Houses 


The    Indians    of  the 
Terraced   Houses 


Chapter  I 


Of    Our    First    Sig'Kt    of    the     Pueblo     Indian,     of 

Tesuque  '    and    How    "We    TooK    a 

PKotograpK    There. 

IT  was  November,  1902,  and  Sylvia  and  I  were 
sitting  at  our  first  breakfast  in  Santa  Fe,  when 
we  saw  an  ancient  waggon,  drawn  by  two 
burros,   coming   up   the   street.     With   that   joy 
which  every  traveller  knows  at  each  fresh  incident 
of  a  long-planned  trip  into  new  territory,  we  were 
smiling  at  the  novel  sight  of  the  odd  little  draft 
animals  with  their  great  flapping  ears,  their  nod 
ding    white    noses,    their    obvious    disinclination 
to  go  faster  than  at  a  snail's  pace,  when  we  were 

^Pronounced  Te-soo'-ka. 

i 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


attracted  by  the  remarkable  nature  of  the  load 
which  the  old  waggon  bore — pottery  of  various 
colours,  shapes,  and  sizes,  bundles  of  gaily-dyed 
horsehair  whips,  squat  drums  stained  yellow  and 
red,  and  other  articles  which  our  untrained  eyes 
failed  to  catalogue.  Suddenly,  from  the  other 
side  of  the  cart,  appeared  the  driver — an  Indian, 
bareheaded  save  for  a  red  fillet  binding  his  black 
hair,  which  was  cut  short  at  the  sides  and  caught 
up  behind  in  a  club  wrapped  with  red  yarn.  A 
bright  red  blanket,  drawn  closely  about  his  body, 
reached  to  his  ankles.  His  feet  were  encased  in 
beaded  moccasins. 

Our  waiter,  an  English  wanderer  repairing  his 
broken  fortunes  in  this  most  un-English  of  Ameri 
can  capitals,  flicked  his  napkin  from  one  arm  to 
the  other  and  patronisingly  observed : 

"  Hindians  from  Tesuque,  sir,  come  into  town  to 
sell  their  pottery  and  such  like,  sir. " 

After  breakfast  we  fared  forth,  guide-book  in 
hand,  to  view  the  conventional  sights  of  the  quaint 
old  city;  but  there  kept  lingering  in  the  minds  of 
both  of  us  the  memory  of  that  gleam  of  colour 
in  a  grey  land — a  touch  of  the  poetic  in  the  driver's 
way  of  carrying  himself,  his  primitive  stock  in 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


trade,  and  his  Oriental  donkeys  that  gave  a  certain 
Old  World  quality  to  the  whole  affair. 

Finally  we  paused  before  the  cathedral  and  gazed 
so  intently  at  its  abbreviated  towers  that  two  Mex 
icans,  sunning  themselves  against  an  adobe  wall, 
nudged  each  other  and  remarked  one  to  the  other : 

"Ah,  these  American  heretics!  Well  may  they 
admire!  What  so  beautiful  a  holy  church  have 
they  in  their  country?" 

But  they  were  deceived  in  our  thoughts,  for  we 
saw  not  the  church. 

Sylvia  said:  "What  did  he  mean  by  Tesuque 
Indians?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  that  myself,"  I  replied.  "I 
have  heard  of  Choctaws  and  Comanches  and  the 
Last  of  the  Mohicans;  but  Tesuque  is  a  new  sort 
to  me.  We  must  find  out. " 

The  hotel  clerk  was  appealed  to,  but  he  had  not 
been  long  in  the  Territory  and  there  were  some 
points  about  the  Tesuques,  he  observed,  that  he 
had  not  learned. 

"But  why  not  go  out  and  see  them  for  your 
selves?"  he  said.  "You  can  do  them  in  an 
afternoon  with  a  two-horse  rig. " 

So  it  transpired  that,  immediately  after  lunch- 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


eon,  we  were  in  a  backboard  with  two  tough 
little  broncos  to  draw  us,  on  our  way  to  spend  a 
couple  of  hours  at  the  Tesuque  pueblo. 

It  was  a  nine-mile  drive  thither,  and  as  we 
travelled,  we  learned  incidentally  from  our  driver 
that  Tesuque  is  a  small  community  of  Indians 
descended  from  those  strange  people  known  as  the 
ancient  Cliff  Dwellers;  that  each  community  has 
an  especial  name  of  its  own,  like  Tesuque  for  this 
one,  but  that  all  have  the  same  methods  of  life 
and  are  known,  generally  speaking,  as  Pueblo 
Indians,  because  they  live  in  pueblos. 

" Pueblo,  you  know/'  he  explained,  "is  the 
Mexican  way  of  saying  '  town. '  All  these  sort  of 
Injuns  live  in  towns  built  to  stay — of  rock  and 
adobe.  They  do  say  some  date  back  to  Columbus' s 
time  and  further.  They  're  sure  old,  all  right,  and 
a  good  job  of  building. " 

The  road  was  typical  of  New  Mexico — now  hard- 
baked  adobe,  now  sand;  now  crossing  dry  arroyos, 
now  climbing  water- worn  hillsides,  where  small 
pinon  trees  and  cedars  made  a  scrubby  growth, 
up  to  glorious  views  of  majestic  mountains,  wide 
plateaus,  and  valleys  with  strange  Spanish  and 
Indian  names,  but  never  a  sign  of  life. 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


At  last  we  came  to  a  little  valley  with  running 
water,  following  which  for  a  couple  of  miles,  we 
crossed  at  a  ford  into  a  narrow  lane  fringed  with 
peach  trees  and  wild  plums  and,  in  a  few  minutes, 
were  in  our  first  pueblo. 

We  had  never  looked  upon  the  like  before,  and, 
had  we  not  felt  competent  to  account  for  every 
minute  of  time  since  we  left  our  home  in  the  East, 
we  should  have  been  tempted  to  think  that  we 
had  somehow  been  diverted  into  a  trip  to  Syria. 
Our  vehicle  had  stopped  in  a  large,  open  plaza, 
facing  upon  the  four  sides  of  which  was  a  solid 
square  of  adobe  houses,  excepting  that,  on  one 
side,  the  white  fagade  of  a  church  edifice  broke  the 
regular  line  of  dwellings.  Some  of  the  houses 
were  one-storied  in  height  and  some  two;  but  in 
the  latter  case,  the  second  story  was  set  back  so  as 
to  make  a  terraced  effect,  the  roof  of  the  front 
room  of  the  first  story  serving  as  a  front  yard  to 
the  second-story  rooms. 

Ladders  were  reared  against  many  of  the  houses, 
affording  means  of  reaching  the  second-story  dwell 
ings,  and  people  were  going  up  and  down  busily. 

Here  and  there,  upon  the  topmost  roof,  erect 
or  leaning  against  a  chimney,  were  motionless 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


Indian  men,  enveloped  in  scarlet  blankets,  which 
they  drew  about  them  so  as  to  cover  the  entire 
head,  leaving  only  the  eyes  visible,  and  making, 
more  than  any  hat,  a  complete  protection  from  the 
shrewd  November  wind,  which  was  now  blowing 
across  the  valley  from  the  snow-fields  of  the  high 
Sangre  de  Cristo  Range.  Aside  from  these  statue- 
like  watchers,  however,  the  village  was  full  of 
activity.  Some  Indian  men,  who  had  driven  in 
behind  us  in  a  farm  waggon,  were  busy  unhitching 
their  team;  an  old  man,  sitting  in  the  sun  by  his 
open  door,  was  mending  a  broken  moccasin;  a 
bevy  of  young  girls,  chatting  and  laughing,  came 
across  the  plaza,  each  bearing  upon  her  head  a 
pottery  jar  filled  with  water  from  the  creek,  and, 
separating,  went  each  to  her  individual  home. 
One  climbed  the  ladder  to  the  second-story  rooms 
as  lightly  and  gracefully  as  though  the  fragile 
vessel  on  her  head,  with  its  twenty  pounds  of 
water,  were  a  feather  weight.  Women  were  mov 
ing  in  and  out  of  the  houses  on  domestic  errands 
of  one  kind  and  another,  not  the  least  interesting 
of  which  to  us  was  the  tending  of  great  mud  ovens 
in  the  plaza,  and  on  the  housetops,  in  which 
wheaten  bread  was  baking. 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


The  attire  of  both  women  and  men  was  strangely 
different  from  anything  we  had  ever  seen  and  as 
distinct  in  its  way  as  the  national  attire  of  Nor 
wegian  peasants  or  of  people  of  the  Orient — not 
that  it  was  like  any  of  those,  however.  The  dis 
tinctive  feature  of  the-  men's  attire,  when  the  blan 
ket  was  removed,  was  a  loose,  cotton  shirt,  worn 
outside  the  trousers,  which,  in  many  cases,  were 
short,  wide,  and  flapping.  The  women's  dress  was 
made  of  a  dark,  woollen  stuff,  neatly  belted  at  the 
waist.  It  came  only  a  little  below  the  knees, 
the  lower  part  of  the  legs  being  swathed  in  buck 
skin,  which  formed  an  appendage  to  their  moccasins. 
A  sort  of  coloured  cape  of  light  material  hung 
from  the  neck  down  the  back.  The  women's 
hair  was  invariably  banged  low  across  the  fore 
head  and,  like  the  men's,  tied  with  red  yarn  into  a 
club  at  the  back. 

Our  vague  thought  of  all  red  men  and  women 
being  lazy  savages,  unat tired  save  as  to  odds  and 
ends  from  missionary  boxes,  and  subsisting  upon 
Government  rations,  underwent  rapid  revision  as 
we  looked  on  at  this  busy  scene.  Everybody 
appeared  as  though  dressed  for  the  stage. 

"Have  they  fixed  up  because  they  knew  we 


8  OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 

were  coming?  "  we  asked  the  driver  with  a  touch  of 
the  national  egotism. 

"Gosh,  no!"  he  replied.  " Fixed  up  nothing. 
This  is  the  way  these  Pueblo  Injuns  always  dress— 
the  women  in  particular.  They  seem  to  think 
their  short  skirts  and  buckskin  leggins  has  the 
Paris  fashions  plumb  skinned.  There  's  lots  of 
missionaries  and  Government  school  teachers  and 
the  like  that  has  spent  good  money  tryin'  to  get 
them  into  sensible  calico  dresses  with  red  and 
yeller  patterns  to  sort  of  catch  the  eye;  but  they 
could  n't  make  it  stick.  The  women  are  great 
stay-at-home  bodies  and  that  makes  'em  set  in 
their  ways.  The  men  go  about  more  among  white 
folks  and  some  of  'em  are  bein'  shamed  into 
overalls  and  jumpers;  even  a  hat  goes  with  a  good 
many  of  'em  now.  But,  Lord!  it  's  slow  changing 
these  Injuns'  ways.  They  have  good  money  to 
spend,  too;  but  it  seems  that,  when  it  comes  to 
doing  anything  with  'em,  it 's  a  case  of  manana, 
just  as  it  is  with  the  Mexican  Dagos — 'nothin* 
doing  to-day,  come  to-morrow,'  says  they." 

Somehow,  we  failed  to  rise  in  spirit  to  this  pro 
gressive  point  of  view.  This  slow  life,  busy 
enough  as  it  appeared  over  necessary  things, 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 


looked  rather  pleasant  to  us  fresh  from  the  world  of 
skyscrapers,  department  stores,  and  automobiles. 
Suddenly  the  quiet  of  the  scene  was  broken  upon 
by  the  monotonous  beating  of  a  hollow-voiced 
drum.  It  came  from  a  point  behind  the  buildings, 
grew  rapidly  louder,  and  almost  before  we  could 
draw  our  astonished  breath,  there  emerged  into 
the  plaza  from  an  alley  among  the  buildings  a 
group  of  the  most  startling  figures  that  our  eyes 
had  ever  beheld.  There  were  some  twenty -five 
or  thirty  of  them,  inching  along  in  single  file  with  a 
curious  sort  of  dance-step,  one  bringing  up  the 
rear  with  the  drum,  a  primitive  affair  made  from 
a  hollowed  log,  upon  which  he  pounded  without 
cessation.  Some  were  men  and  some  women. 
Save  for  a  sort  of  kilt  about  the  loins,  the  men  were 
naked,  their  red  bodies  smeared  with  black  and 
vermilion  paint.  Jingling  shells  and  rattles  hung 
from  their  knees  and  wrists  and  about  their  necks, 
and  corn  husks  were  twisted  fantastically  in  their 
streaming  hair  and  about  their  ankles.  The 
women  were  dressed  in  gay  attire,  each  cheek 
painted  with  a  bright  red  spot,  while  upon  their 
heads  were  fastened  grotesquely -patterned  tablets 
of  wood  that  stood  upright. 


io  OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 

A  look  of  intense  seriousness  was  in  the  faces  of 
the  dancers.  Not  a  glance  was  cast  our  way ;  our 
existence  was  apparently  ignored.  Inch  by  inch, 
into  the  centre  of  the  plaza,  the  strange  dance 
moved;  and  now,  in  rhythm  with  the  untiring 
drum,  there  arose  from  the  throats  of  the  dancers 
a  solemn  musical  chant  in  unison,  the  same  phrase 
repeated  over  and  over  again;  yet,  in  a  way,  it  was 
fascinating  to  us.  We  had  never  heard  Indian 
music  before,  but  we  knew  instinctively  that  this 
was  the  real  aboriginal  thing.  There  could  be  noth 
ing  else  like  it  in  the  heavens  or  under  the  earth. 

Separating  into  two  lines,  facing  each  other,  the 
dancers  footed  it  sideways  up  and  down  the  middle 
space  of  the  plaza,  to  the  unceasing  accompani 
ment  of  the  music  and  certain  movements  of  the 
arms  performed  in  precise  unison.  All  the  while 
the  busy  life  of  the  pueblo  continued  almost 
without  interruption,  as  little  attention  being  paid 
to  the  dance  as  though  it  were  an  every- day 
occurrence. 

An  Indian  who  was  strolling  by  was  accosted 
in  Spanish  by  our  driver,  who  offered  him  a 
cigarette  and  inquired  the -meaning  of  it  all.  Then 
he  informed  us: 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO  u 

"These  are  a  bunch  of  visiting  Injuns  from 
Cochiti  pueblo,  about  forty  miles  west  of  here,  run 
over  to  dance  the  corn  dance  with  these  folks 
this  afternoon.  We  are  in  luck  to  catch  'em  at  it. 
They  have  lots  of  these  little  private  fiestas  among 
themselves,  that  nobody  else  knows  about. " 

At  that  time  we  were  in  the  typical  tourist  class, 
understanding  neither  Indians  nor  New  Mexico. 
Therefore,  with  the  anticipation  of  rehearsing  this 
scene  to  friends  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  who 
would  never  in  the  world  believe  us,  unless  we  had 
ocular  demonstrations  to  submit,  we  drew  the  ko 
dak  from  its  case.  The  driver  glanced  at  it. 

"  Them  things  and  Injuns  don't  mix, "  he  warned 
us. 

"But  they  can  never  see  what  we  are  doing  at 
this  distance,"  we  replied — the  dance  by  this 
time  was  the  length  of  the  plaza  away  from  us. 

"Besides,"  remarked  Sylvia,  "I'll  throw  the 
end  of  my  wrap  over  the  camera  and  they  can't 
know," — and  with  a  click  the  shot  was  taken. 

Nothing,  we  thought,  could  have  been  more 
unobserved  and  quietly  done. 

"Oh,  how  wonderful!  Shall  I  take  another?" 
asked  Sylvia,  intent  upon  the  kaleidoscopic  picture 


12  OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO 

in  the  finder  and  snapping  again.  "What 's  the 
matter?  Is  the  dance  over?" 

As  if  the  tiny  click  had  been  carried  by  magic 
across  the  wide  space  and  sounded  in  each  dancer's 
ear  above  all  the  chanting,  the  music  had  ceased 
suddenly  and  the  performers  had  broken  into 
disorder.  Everybody  was  looking — looking,  too, 
anything  but  agreeably — towards  us;  and,  to  our 
dismay,  across  the  plaza  there  came  running,  with 
whoops  that  made  the  chills  run  down  our  backs, 
two  of  the  fantastic  dancers  with  painted  faces — 
more  like  demons  than  men.  An  unintelligible 
uproar  of  pagan  speech  rose  from  their  lips  as  they 
pressed  their  faces  close  to  ours. 

Sylvia  had  a  logical  mind.  It  was  she  who  had 
insisted  upon  taking  the  picture,  and  it  was  plain 
to  her  that  now  she  was  to  be  scalped  for  it.  There 
was,  however,  a  possibility  that  her  companions 
might  avoid  a  like  fate  if  she  surrendered  the 
offending  machine;  and,  snatching  the  camera 
from  beneath  the  cloak,  she  thrust  it  tremblingly 
into  the  arms  of  the  more  ferocious-looking  of  the 
savages  and,  with  blanched  lips,  cried : 

"Here,  take  it— all!" 

The  Indian  looked  at  it  gravely,  and  at  her. 


OUR  FIRST  PUEBLO  13 

With  every  movement  of  his  body  the  corn  husks 
in  his  hair  rustled  mysteriously  and  the  rattles  at 
his  knees  clinked  gruesomely.  He  spoke  several 
sentences  in  his  outlandish  tongue,  which  did  not 
help  to  quiet  our  palpitating  hearts.  Then,  to  our 
astonishment,  he  smiled  good-humouredly  and 
said  in  perfect  English : 

"We  do  not  like  pictures  taken  here,  and  you 
will  please  not  do  it  again;  but  if  you  want  them 
badly,  please  see  the  Governor.  Perhaps,  for  five 
dollars,  he  will  let  you  photograph." 

Down  the  plaza  the  drum  began  its  monotonous 
note  again,  the  dancers  lined  up,  and  the  chant 
arose  once  more.  Our  two  interviewers  took  up 
the  refrain  and  departed  to  join  the  rest. 

"Them  bucks  is  Carlisle  fellows,"  grinned  the 
driver.  "They  had  you  pretty  well  scared;  but 
you  got  off  easy.  I  once  seen  'em  run  a  spear 
plumb  through  a  camera." 

"Five  dollars — the  idea!"  said  Sylvia  absently; 
"and  I  do  believe  I  took  both  those  pictures  on  one 
film!  Is  n't  it  too  bad?" 


Chapter  II 

Of  Acoma,  Pueblo  of  tHe  SKy;  How  Edward  Hunt 

Fo\»nd  Us  Lodgings  TKere;  and  of  tHe  Fiesta  of 

San   Esteban. 

THE  most  poetic  of  all  New  Mexico  pueblos, 
in  point  of  situation,  is  Acoma, J  a  veri 
table  city  of  the  sky,  built  upon  the  flat, 
seventy-acre  summit  of  a  huge  rock  with  per 
pendicular  sides,  thrust  up  some  three  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  out  of  the  midst  of  a  sandy  soli 
tude  of  plain.  Beyond  the  plain  and  encircling 
it  is  a  rim  of  mountains,  touched  morning  and 
evening  with  the  mysterious  colours  of  the  desert ; 
and  if  there  is  a  world  beyond  the  mountains,  it 
is  not  evident  to  Acoma. 

To  reach  this  village  of  the  upper  air,  one  leaves 
the  train  at  Laguna,  where  also  is  an  Indian  pueblo. 
Close  by  are  a  few  homes  of  white  people  with 
whom  arrangements  can  be  made  for  transporta- 

1  Pronounced  Ah 'co-ma. 

14 


if  s 


i  '        £ 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  15 

tion  to  Acoma,  which  lies  fifteen  miles  to  the  south. 
Most  tourists  who  take  the  trip  are,  after  the  man 
ner  of  their  kind,  in  haste  about  getting  home,  and 
pare  the  time  down  to  one  day ;  but  a  week  is  none 
too  much  to  devote  to  the  sights  of  this  miniature 
wonderland — which  has  been  described  as  "the 
Garden  of  the  Gods  multiplied  by  ten  plus  a 
human  interest" — and  to  experience  the  spirit  of 
its  simple  life  and  its  primitive  people.  There  is, 
however,  no  accommodation  available  except  that 
offered  by  Indian  homes,  and,  as  few  travellers 
care  for  that  sort  of  adventure,  it  is  advisable  for 
intending  sojourners  to  take  their  own  blankets 
and  provisions,  and  if  it  be  in  the  season  when 
rain  is  likely,  a  tent. 

The  road  from  Laguna  is  through  a  characteris 
tic  northern  New  Mexico  landscape,  dotted  with 
pinon  and  cedar  and  black  lava  blocks,  around  and 
among  which,  in  summer,  an  ocean  of  sunflowers 
flows  and  ebbs ;  and  near  and  far  rise  red  and  purple 
mountains  fantastically  cut  and  gashed  by  the 
weather  of  ancient  times  into  titanic,  battlemented 
fortresses,  towers,  domes,  and  pinnacles. 

As  the  road  enters  the  valley  of  Acoma,  our  eyes 
are  greeted  with  the  sight  of  that  famous  table- 


1 6  A  COMA  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

rock  of  the  South- West — the  Enchanted  Mesa — 
lifting  its  cylindrical  block  against  the  turquoise 
sky.  Four  miles  beyond  towers  the  rock  of  Acoma, 
similar  in  form,  but  somewhat  less  lofty.  A  few 
cattle  and  sheep  are  grazing  on  the  wild  growths 
of  the  plain  and  an  Indian  on  pony-back,  his 
shock  of  jet  black  hair  bound  about  with  a  scarlet 
fillet  and  his  white,  cotton  trousers  flapping  in  the 
breeze,  lopes  by  on  some  errand  toward  the  hills. 
A  snatch  of  the  barbaric  melody  which  he  sings 
drifts  back  to  us  as  he  disappears  around  the  sand 
hills,  and  we  realise  that  it  is  happiness  to  be  an 
Indian  in  a  real  Indian  country. 

Why  the  Enchanted  Mesa  is  enchanted,  I  have 
never  heard  explained.  The  term  is  a  translation 
of  the  name  given  to  it  by  the  first  Spaniards,  who 
called  it  "La  Mesa  Encantada."  The  Indians 
say  "Katzimo. "  A  tragic  interest  attaches  to  it 
because  of  the  tradition  of  the  Acomas  that  their 
own  town,  a  long  time  before  the  coming  of  the 
white  man,  was  located  on  its  flat  top,  which  was 
accessible  by  only  one  trail.  One  day,  when  most 
of  the  inhabitants  were  busy  in  their  fields  out  in 
the  plain^  a  storm  destroyed  this  approach  and  it 
was  necessary  for  the  people  to  establish  a  new 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  17 

home  for  themselves,  which  they  did  upon  the 
present  rocky  site.  Of  course,  the  hard-fact 
scientist  has  fallen  afoul  of  this  legend,  and  some 
years  ago  a  Princeton  professor  thought  to  give 
it  a  scientific  burial.  After  a  brief  visit  to  the  top, 
accomplished  only  after  several  days'  labour,  he 
saw  nothing  which  would  pass  in  New  Jersey  for 
the  remains  of  a  prehistoric  settlement,  and  said 
so  in  print.  This  nettled  the  archaeologists  of  the 
South- West,  and  an  expedition  was  fitted  out  for 
the  scaling  of  the  rock  by  Dr.  F.  W.  Hodge  of  the 
Smithsonian  Institution  at  Washington,  who  dis 
covered  abundant  evidence  of  a  human  habita 
tion  at  some  very  distant  time.  Under  the  title 
"Katzimo  the  Enchanted,"  there  is  an  interesting 
popular  account  of  this  visit  in  the  Land  of  Sun 
shine  Magazine  for  November,  1897.  The  curious 
traveller,  desirous  of  following  in  the  footsteps  of 
these  venturesome  climbers,  will  not  find  it  possible 
unassisted  to  approach  nearer  than  within  some 
thirty  or  forty  feet  of  the  summit  of  the  Mesa; 
but  arrangements  may  be  made  at  Laguna  for  an 
outfit  of  ladders  and  ropes  by  which  the  top  may 
be  reached  by  hard  scrambling. 

One  needs  to  be  close  under  the  cliffs  of  Acoma 


1 8  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

before  any  sign  of  the  village  is  visible,  as  the 
houses  are  of  the  same  colour  as  the  rock  upon 
which  they  stand  and  so  far  above  the  plain  that, 
as  old  Castaneda,  the  chronicler  of  Coronado's 
expedition  in  1540,  records,  "it  was  a  very  good 
musket  that  could  throw  a  ball  as  high."  The 
huge  mesa  is  of  soft  brown  rock,  worn  by  the  sand 
which  the  wind  of  ages  has  hurled  against  it.  This, 
acting  as  a  natural  sand-blast,  has  cut  the  rock  into 
many  a  grotesque  shape, — squat  columns  and  airy 
minarets,  caverns  and  ogres'  dens,  and  strange 
forms  with  features  like  those  of  fabled  creatures 
of  old  romance.  The  fine  sand  of  the  plains,  piled 
up  by  these  wind-storms  of  the  past,  has  finally 
created  two  or  three  giants'  pathways  up  and 
around  the  cliffs  on  one  side.  By  one  of  these, 
animals  are  enabled  to  attain  the  summit,  though 
it  is  not  possible  for  vehicles  to  do  so.  Human 
beings  usually  reach  the  town  by  means  of  one  of 
two  steep  stairways  of  rock,  carved  out  and  built 
up  through  two  of  the  crevasses  of  the  mesa's  side. 
To  one  unaccustomed  to  climbing,  it  certainly  is  a 
dizzy  sight — the  first  look  up  this  dark  and  winding 
flight  of  aboriginal  steps.  Yet  the  ascent  is  not 
difficult,  having  been  made  safe  and  easy  by 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  19 

cutting  hand  holes  in  the  soft  sandstone  at  ticklish 
places,  and  the  Indians  ascend  and  descend  non 
chalantly,  bearing  back-bowing  burdens. 

It  was  up  one  of  these  trails  that  Brother  Juan 
Ramirez,  the  apostle  to  the  Acomas,  unheralded 
and  alone,  made  his  missionary  way  one  day  in 
1629.  Before  reaching  the  top,  he  was  greeted 
with  flying  arrows,  shot  at  him  by  a  group  of 
Indians  gathered  on  the  cliff  above;  for  the 
Acomas  had  by  that  outlived  their  love  for  white 
men.  Simultaneously  with  the  arrows,  the  story 
goes,  a  little  girl  accidentally  fell  over  the  edge  of 
the  cliff  and  lit,  unseen  by  the  Indians,  on  a 
sheltered  ledge  within  reach  of  the  Brother's  hand. 
He  picked  her  up  unhurt,  and,  when  he  appeared  a 
little  later  holding  in  his  arms  the  smiling  child 
whom  the  Indians  thought  dashed  to  pieces  by 
that  time  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  their  opinion 
of  him  went  rapidly  to  a  premium,  and  he  was 
received  as  a  great  medicine  man.  The  story  is 
recounted  by  Lummis  in  his  fascinating  book,  The 
Spanish  Pioneers;  and  readers  who  would  enjoy  a 
stirring  recital  of  one  of  the  most  heroic  assaults 
in  history,  will  find,  in  the  same  volume,  an  account 
of  the  storming  of  Acoma  in  1599  by  seventy  Span- 


20  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

iards.  The  rock,  manned  by  four  hundred  Indian 
warriors,  was  considered  as  impregnable  as  Gibral 
tar  now  is,  but  the  Spanish  took  it,  though  every 
man  of  them,  who  was  not  killed,  was  wounded. 

Like  all  the  New  Mexico  pueblos  excepting 
Zufii,  Acoma  is  a  cure  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  and  is  endowed  with  a  patron  saint — 
Stephen.  To  the  average  sightseer  the  most  in 
teresting  time  to  visit  the  old  town  is  on  the 
occasion  of  this  Saint's  feast — the  Fiesta  de  San 
Esteban,  which  occurs  annually  on  September  2d. 
Sylvia  and  I  engaged  a  Laguna  Indian  to  drive  us 
over  on  the  day  before,  and  when  our  team  of  little 
grey  ponies,  their  ancient  harness  held  thriftily 
together  with  baling  wire,  landed  us  at  the  foot 
of  the  Acoma  cliffs,  we  were  greeted  by  Edward 
Hunt,  a  large,  good-humoured  Acoma  Indian,  who 
had  picked  up  a  Quakerish  name,  a  fair  knowledge 
of  English,  and  American  ways  enough  to  make 
him  think  that  a  trader's  store  at  the  foot  of 
Acoma  would  be  an  agreeable  and  profitable 
vehicle  in  which  to  make  the  journey  of  life.  To 
him  we  unfolded  our  plan  of  spending  a  few  days 
in  the  village,  and  asked  if  he  could  help  us  to  rent 
a  house  up  in  the  pueblo. 


I 

C/5 

I  i- 

•  <fi 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  21 

No,  he  thought  no  one  had  any,  and  smiled 
genially;  and  then,  seeing  our  disappointment 
perhaps,  he  turned  more  hopeful  and  added  : 

"Well,  you  eat  your  lunch,  and  I  guess  I  have  to 
go  with  you  peoples  pretty  soon  up  the  mesa  and 
look  around.  You  wait  awhile.  Pretty  soon  I 
come  again. " 

With  that  he  disappeared  into  the  recesses  of  his 
little  adobe — half  store,  half  dwelling. 

We  ate  our  luncheon,  and  knowing  something 
from  experience  of  the  leisurely  ways  of  the  red 
brother,  we  did  not  hurry  through  it.  Then  a 
bit  of  siesta,  and  so  into  the  store  to  look  about  for 
Edward.  Through  a  door  he  was  discovered  in 
the  next  room  in  the  midst  of  his  family,  chang 
ing  his  shirt.  He  smiled  at  us  benignantly  and 
remarked : 

"  You  wait.     Pretty  soon  I  come. " 

We  waited — twenty-five  minutes  by  the  watch. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  came  out  and 
glanced  leisurely  around  the  store,  picked  up  a 
large  grey  sombrero  adorned  with  a  magnificent 
hat-band,  set  it  carefully  on  his  raven  locks,  viewed 
himself  in  a  square  inch  or  two  of  mirror  that  hung 
behind  the  door,  took  one  more  last  look  slowly 


22  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

around  the  store,  went  into  the  next  room,  chatted 
with  his  wife,  patted  one  of  the  children  on  the 
head,  and  then,  stepping  forth  into  the  sunshine, 
observed,  as  though  we  had  been  keeping  him 
waiting : 

"You  ready?     Let  'sgo." 

Two  hours  had  been  thus  consumed  in  getting 
Edward  under  way,  but  three  more  went  into  the 
maw  of  time  before  our  lodging  was  found.  The 
way  of  our  aboriginal  house-hunt  was  this: 

First,  Edward  had  to  pause  at  the  top  of  the 
trail,  light  a  cigarette,  and  pass  the  time  of  day 
with  a  knot  of  his  cronies  who  were  sunning  ihem- 
selves  at  the  brink  of  the  broad  rock  where,  three 
centuries  agone,  their  assembled  ancestors  spat 
defiance  at  the  King  of  Spain.  Then,  when  pro 
gress  was  resumed  and  we  were  really  within  the 
pueblo,  friendly  faces  would  peer  out  of  sundry 
doorways  and  the  sociable  Edward,  leaving  us  to 
sit  on  the  steps  and  distribute  candy  to  the  children 
who  were  trooping  after  us  with  murmurs  of 
"gooties, "  would  disappear  within  a  house,  where 
we  would  descry  him  smoking  more  cigarettes  and 
passing  more  time  of  day.  Emerging  after  a 
while,  he  would  smile  his  kind,  indulgent  smile, 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  23 

and  remark,  as  though  communicating  the  best 
news  in  the  world : 

"Well,  he  say, '  No ' "  ("  he  "  being  the  woman  of 
the  house).  "Mebbe  better  luck  some  other 
houses,  I  don*  know.  Let 's  go!" 

And  so  to  another  house  and  another,  all  to  no 
purpose;  for  it  seemed  that,  because  of  the  fiesta 
on  the  morrow,  the  hospitality  of  Acoma  was 
taxed  to  the  physical  limit  for  the  accommodation 
of  friends,  who  took  precedence  over  the  white 
strangers.  It  looked  as  though  we  should  have  to 
roll  up  in  our  blankets  on  the  rock. 

At  last  we  had  exhausted  the  town  and  stood 
on  the  outskirts  overlooking  the  ancient  Spanish 
church  with  its  two-century-old  balcony.  Ed 
ward's  roving  eyes  settled  upon  it  as  a  last  hope, 
and  he  observed  insinuatingly: 

"Well,  what  you  say — that  porch  way  up  on 
the  church?  That 's  pretty  good  place,  no? 
Mebbe  the  Governor  he  let  you  have  that  porch. 
What  you  say?" 

We  could  hardly  believe  we  were  not  dreaming. 
To  have  offered  us  for  our  very  own  a  balcony 
overlooking  all  Acoma,  the  Enchanted  Mesa,  and 
the;  sunrise — a  balcony  with  an  ancient,  hand- 


24  A  COMA  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

carved,  wooden  railing  around  it,  as  Sylvia  had 
observed — the  balcony  of  one  of  the  most  famous 
churches  in  the  New  World, — famous  because 
every  stick  and  adobe  brick  in  it  had  been  carried 
up  the  dizzy  trails  bit  by  bit  from  the  plain  three 
hundred  feet  below,  on  Indians*  weary  backs,  and 
because  the  church  had  been  as  long  a-building 
as  the  children  of  Israel  were  in  getting  out  of  the 
wilderness — it  was  like  a  fairy  tale  to  us  and,  of 
course,  we  said  "Yes." 

"Let  us  go!"  said  Edward. 

And  so  to  the  Governor's.  There  we  all  sat 
gravely  down  as  to  the  discussion  of  an  inter 
national  modus  vivendi  and,  after  rolling  a  cigarette 
apiece,  the  Governor  and  Edward  launched  out 
upon  a  pourparler,  which  came  with  the  shadows 
of  evening  to  this  happy  conclusion,  as  interpreted 
to  us  by  Edward : 

"The  Governor  he  say  church  belong  to  all  tho 
people;  but  you  say  what  you  worth  to  sleep  there 
two  or  three  days  and  he  be  satisfied.  What  you 
say?" 

We  parried  this  by  asking  Edward  what  he 
thought  was  right,  and  it  was  finally  arranged 
that  we  should  pay  fifty  cents  to  the  Governoi4 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  25 

for  the  rent,  fifty  cents  to  a  friend  of  Edward's 
who  had  a  burro  and  would  bring  up  our  bundles 
of  blankets,  provisions,  and  two  cots,  and  fifty 
cents  to  the  Governor's  niece  to  bring  us  water 
every  morning  in  an  Indian  jar  balanced  on  her 
head,  as  one  sees  in  pictures. 

We  were  awakened  at  dawn  the  next  morning 
by  the  hollow  voice  of  the  tombe  or  official  drum 
and  the  stentorian  tones  of  the  public  crier  as  he 
walked  up  one  street  and  down  another,  announc 
ing  the  exercises  of  the  day — at  least,  we  assumed 
this  to  be  the  purport  of  his  words,  which  were  in 
the  native  tongue — and  by  the  time  the  sun  had 
risen,  all  Acoma  was  astir.  Blankets  and  beds 
were  being  shaken  out  from  the  upper  roofs,  where 
many  had  slept  the  night  before,  Syrian  fashion, 
under  the  glowing  stars;  fires  were  sending  up  their 
smoke  straight  into  the  delicious  air  of  the  New 
Mexico  morning ;  girls,  with  water  jars  poised  upon 
their  heads,  climbed  ladders  to  the  upper  terraces 
and  disappeared  into  various  houses.  Into  our 
own  airy  balcony  came  the  Governor's  niece  and, 
silently  setting  down  a  brimming  tinaja  in  one 
corner,  as  silently  departed.  Certain  fragrances 
that  rose  from  beneath  us  indicated  that  the  padre, 


26  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

whose  apartments  were  immediately  under  our 
balcony,  and  who  had  arrived  sometime  during  the 
watches  of  the  night,  was  prefacing  his  spiritual 
labours  with  a  substantial  breakfast.  We  met  him 
later  in  the  morning — a  rotund  little  Spanish  man, 
jovially  disposed  by  nature,  but  that  day  sallow 
and  hollow-eyed,  having,  it  seems,  supped  on 
canned  caviare  and  suffered  a  colic  during  the 
night. 

"But  it  was  a  sick  padre,  my  friends,"  he  said 
sadly  with  a  kindly  shake  of  our  hands,  "that  was 
beneath  you  last  night — that  detest*  caviare' — 
bah!" 

The  first  order  of  the  day  at  these  Pueblo 
fiestas  of  the  saints  is  always  the  mass  in  the 
church;  this  apparently  atones  in  advance  for  the 
pagan  features  which  make  up  the  bulk  of  the  day's 
doings.  It  was  a  picturesque  throng  that  assem 
bled  before  the  church  that  sunny  September 
morning,  and  upon  which  we  looked  down  from 
our  balcony — such  a  sight,  indeed,  as  one  would 
hardly  think  possible  in  these  United  States.  On 
every  hand,  mingling  with  the  Indians,  were 
swarthy  Mexicans,  their  wives  and  children  decked 
out  in  wondrous  effects  of  green,  yellow,  white, 


The  tombe  beater,  Acoma.     Fiesta  of  San  Esteban. 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  27 

and  red.  The  Acomas  were  in  divers  sorts  of 
raiment :  there  were  the  rich  progressives  in  broad- 
brimmed  sombreros,  set  squarely  on  their  heads, 
which,  with  their  plain  faces,  gave  them  somewhat 
of  a  Quaker  appearance.  To  a  man,  this  group 
wore  clean,  boiled  shirts,  black  trousers,  open, 
black  waistcoats  without  a  coat,  and  uncompro 
misingly  stiff  new  brogans  encasing  their  feet. 
Their  bright  new  bandas  wound  about  their  heads 
were  the  only  visible  remnants  of  the  distinctive 
Pueblo  dress,  and  these  were  apparent  only  when 
the  men  eased  their  heads  by  carrying  their  hats 
in  their  4hands.  In  contrast  to  this  group,  were 
the  hat  less  rich  conservatives,  resist  ers  of  the 
American  invasion,  clad  in  shirts  that  hung  out 
side  flapping  white  trousers,  with  ample  red 
garters  with  tassels  wound  about  their  knees.  For 
the  most  part,  too,  they  were  enveloped  in  blankets 
of  striking  designs,  wherein,  like  as  not,  a  baby 
was  carried,  while  the  wife,  arrayed  in  short 
Pueblo  skirt,  gorgeous  leg  moccasins,  silver  neck 
lace,  and  silver  bracelets,  followed  close  behind. 
Mingling  with  these  folk  in  gala  attire  were  many 
of  the  poorer  sort,  clad  in  their  every-day  overalls, 
and  such  scraps  of  clothing,  American  and  Pueblo, 


28  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

as  their  poverty  might  vouchsafe  them.  But 
everyone  who  could  afford  it  had  a  new  banda 
about  his  head. 

Among  the  crowd,  too,  were  wolfish-looking 
Navajos,  draped  in  gay  blankets  of  their  own 
weaving,  thus  displayed  for  sale,  and,  though 
hereditary  enemies  of  the  Pueblos,  come  to  barter 
and  pick  up  such  loaves  and  fishes  as  the  day 
might  vouchsafe  them.  And  here,  too,  were  In 
dians  from  far  Isleta,  Pueblo  farmer  folk  with 
baskets  of  fruit  for  sale.  There  were  loose  clusters 
of  sweet  Mission  grapes,  pears,  and  persimmon- 
like  plums,  and  luscious  peaches  that  reminded  us 
of  the  white  October  peaches  of  the  East;  and 
there  were  long  yellow  muskmelons  and  little 
round  watermelons  the  size  of  one's  head.  Very 
gifts  of  the  gods  were  these  fruits  to  dwellers  in 
that  sunburnt  dewless  plain  of  Acoma,  and  none 
remained  unsold. 

After  all  that  would,  had  been  drummed  to 
church,  the  services  there  came  to  a  close.  Then, 
thronging  out  into  the  sunlight,  the  people  formed 
in  procession,  the  image  of  Saint  Stephen  in  their 
midst,  with  mushroom  halo  and  wooden  hands 
raised  in  blessing,  and  marched  about  the  village 


The  melon  sellers,  Acoma,  on  San  Esteban  day. 


A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA  29 

to  the  accompaniment  of  clanging  bells  from  the 
belfry,  the  firing  of  muskets  to  keep  off  the  devil, 
and  the  solemn  chanting  of  a  hundred  reverent 
voices.  So  to  a  rustic  shrine  of  corn  plants  and 
leafy  cottonwood  branches  which  had  been  erected 
for  the  occasion.  Here  deposited,  Saint  Stephen 
received  that  day,  with  two  old  Indians  sitting  at 
the  doorway  of  the  shrine  to  keep  off  errant  swine 
and  other  godless  interlopers.  Hither  for  hours 
the  devout  came  bringing  baskets  heaped  high 
with  thank-offerings,  which  were  tendered  on 
bended  knee  and  left  lying  at  his  feet — melons, 
peaches,  and  corn,  chili  peppers  and  candles  and 
brown  loaves  of  fresh  bread.  The  Saint  would 
have  none  go  hungry  on  his  day,  and  at  frequent 
intervals  basketfuls  were  handed  out  to  the  multi 
tude  or  thrown  high  into  the  air  to  be  scrambled  for. 
To  the  visitors  the  main  event  was  the  Indian 
dance.  Long  before  Fray  Juan  Ramirez  came  to 
Acoma,  the  people  held  festivals  of  prayer  offered 
paganwise  to  the  Powers  Above  for  the  gift  of 
rain  and  festivals  of  thanksgiving  for  harvests 
vouchsafed.  The  heart  of  Acoma  is  still  warm  to 
its  old  love,  and  the  Church  indulges  it  in  such 
of  the  immemorial  practices  as  are  innocent  of 


30  A  COM  A  AND  ITS  FIESTA 

offence  against  decent  living.  So  no  feast  day  is 
complete  without  its  dance  in  ancient  costume. 
Shortly  after  noon,  the  dull  thumping  of  a 
tombe  was  heard  from  an  unseen  quarter,  and 
streaming  down  from  the  upper  stories  of  certain 
houses  came  the  dancers,  who  formed  in  two  lines, 
and,  to  the  chanting  of  a  choir  of  Indian  men, 
moved  in  step,  an  inch  at  a  time,  toward  the 
Saint's  booth.  The  men  dancers  were  stripped  to 
the  waist,  their  faces  and  bodies  painted  in  fantas 
tic  fashion,  while  from  neck  and  shoulders,  waist 
and  ankles,  depended  all  sorts  of  tinkling  and  gay 
ornaments.  Twigs  of  live  spruce  were  thrust  in 
their  head-dresses,  wristlets,  and  arm-bands,  and  in 
their  hands  were  rattles  made  of  gourds  with 
pebbles  within.  There  was  no  sign  of  levity,  for 
this  was  a  religious  rite  hallowed  to  the  tribe  by 
ancestral  usage  and  doubtless  more  real  to  them 
than  those  morning  services  in  the  church.  The 
women  dancers  had  sweet,  shy  faces,  and  their 
eyes  were  modestly  downcast.  Their  costumes 
were  very  brilliant  in  colour  and  had  the  special 
distinction  of  a  curious  head-dress,  consisting  of  a 
large  painted  board  set  upright  and  cut  into  shapes 
of  symbolic  significance. 


Women  dancers,  Acoma.     Fiesta  of  San  Esteban. 


A  CO  MA  AND  ITS  FIESTA  31 

All  the  hot,  September  afternoon  the  dancers 
kept  step  to  the  choiring,  until  the  sun  sank  low 
in  the  heavens.  Then,  suddenly  the  singing 
ceased  and  the  dancers,  breaking  ranks,  crowded 
about  the  Saint's  booth  and  knelt  for  a  moment  in 
silent  adoration  before  his  image.  The  booth  was 
then  stripped  of  its  green ;  the  image  was  brought 
out;  the  faithful,  candles  in  hand,  again  formed 
in  procession,  and  amid  the  ringing  of  the  church 
bells  and  the  firing  of  guns  as  in  the  morning,  the 
precious  relic  was  borne  back  to  its  niche  in  the  old 
church,  and  the  feast  of  Saint  Stephen  was  over. 


Chapter  III 

Of  wHat  Befell  Us  vinder  tKe   RocK  of  Acoma,  and 
How  We  Turned  Cliff  Dwellers. 

IN  quest  of  SL  new  experience,  we  took  a  hint  from 
a  band  of  Navajos  who  had  encamped  among 
some  rocks  islanded  in  the  plain  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  or  so  from  the  foot  of  the  Acoma  cliffs,  and 
when  they  struck  camp  on  the  night  of  the  fiesta, 
we  moved  down.  To  watch  our  goods  for  us 
during  absences  from  our  camp  and  to  bring  us 
water,  the  redoubtable  Edward  secured  us  the 
services,  at  the  stipend  of  a  dollar  a  day,  of  one 
Carlitos,  an  Acoma  man  who  was  admittedly 
ignorant  of  English — but  held  to  be  very  honest. 
Night  had  fallen  when  Carlitos,  having  brought 
down  our  last  bundle  from  the  pueblo,  bade  us 
adios.  The  moon,  shining  amid  cloud  drift,  re 
vealed  far  out  on  the  plain  the  outlines  of  the 
Bedouin  cavalcade  of  departing  Navajos  cantering 
into  the  desert,  and  gave  us  fitful  light  as  we 

32 


UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK  33 

spread  our  blankets  and  set  our  sky-roofed  house 
in  order.  We  had  a  small  alcohol  lamp,  which  we 
lighted  to  boil  water  for  a  cannikin  of  tea,  and 
opening  a  tin  of  sardines  and  a  box  of  crackers,  we 
prepared  to  discuss  a  bit  of  supper  before  turning 
in. 

Suddenly  the  quiet  was  disrupted  by  a  blood- 
chilling  yell,  which  rose  from  behind  a  gigantic 
rock  close  by.  The  can-opener  dropped  from  my 
nerveless  fingers,  and  Sylvia's  face  blanched.  Then 
another  scream,  nearer  and,  if  possible,  more 
demoniac,  and  before  we  could  form  a  connected 
theory  as  to  what  the  fearful  outcry  meant,  there 
staggered  into  a  strip  of  moonlight  before  us  a 
Navajo  crazy  with  whiskey.  He  was  too  blind 
drunk  to  see  us  and  plunged  stumbling  past  us 
down  to  the  edge  of  some  rocks,  where  we  dimly 
made  out  the  figure  of  an  Indian  woman,  gaunt  and 
black,  holding  two  ponies.  Stopping  the  reeling 
man,  she  succeeded  in  steering  him  to  one  of  the 
horses  and  got  him  into  the  saddle.  Then,  mount 
ing  the  other  herself,  the  two  rode  off  at  a  mad  run, 
side  by  side,  he  still  whooping  devilishly  at  inter 
vals,  and  she  silently  steadying  him  with  one 
hand,  until,  to  our  intense  relief,  the  night  swal- 


34  UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK 

lowed  them  up.  It  was  our  first  experience  of  the 
wretched  aftermath  of  many  Indian  fiestas,  when 
whiskey  is  apt  to  be  smuggled  in  by  boot-leggers. 

But  there  was  more  to  come.  Hardly  had  the 
crazy  yelling  died  away  in  the  distance,  when  we 
heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  where  the  woman 
had  been,  three  horsemen  now  were  reining  in  their 
broncos.  They,  too,  we  could  see,  were  Navajos, 
and  to  our  discomfort  were  looking  intently  our 
way.  They  hallooed  something  we  did  not  under 
stand,  and  then  two,  dismounting,  walked  rather 
unsteadily  towards  us.  Stepping  close  to  us,  they 
evilly  surveyed  our  little  tenderfoot  camp,  with 
its  cots  and  alcohol  lamp  and  all,  and  muttered 
something  among  themselves  in  their  pagan 
jargon. 

Though  our  hearts  thumped  unmercifully,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  we  outwardly  bore  ourselves 
tranquilly.  I  know  Sylvia,  arranging  crackers  on 
a  tin  plate,  was  as  composed  as  Werther's  Char 
lotte  spreading  bread  and  butter. 

Then  the  less  drunk  of  the  two  growled  out 
something  that  sounded  like  "Navajo  John." 

"Well,  Navajo  John, "  said  I,  putting  up  a  bold 
front,  "what  do  you  want?" 


UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK  35 

"Navajo  John?"  he  repeated,  interrogatively 
this  time,  I  noticed,  and  making  an  ugly  drunken 
lunge  forward  with  a  heavy  emphasis  on  the 
John. 

"He  means,"  said  Sylvia,  "are  the  Navajes 
gone.  Oh,  do  tell  him  that  they  are!" 

I  did,  in  English,  in  Spanish,  and  in  an  attempt 
at  the  sign  language,  pointing  out  the  direction 
they  had  taken. 

By  this  time,  however,  the  red  brethren  were 
more  interested  in  us  and  our  camp  than  in  pur 
suing  their  departed  company.  The  light  of  the 
alcohol  lamp  attracted  their  bleary  gaze  and  had 
to  be  maundered  over  between  them,  one  of  them 
skeptically  thrusting  his  finger  into  the  tenuous 
flame  before  believing  in  the  power  of  its  heat. 
They  fingered  our  soft  down  quilts  with  a  kind  of 
awe,  and  they  tripped  over  the  hidden  leg  of  one 
of  the  cots,  and  that  had  then  to  be  looked  criti 
cally  into.  Thinking  to  hasten  their  departure, 
Sylvia  plied  them  with  soda-crackers,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  third  man  with  the  horses,  who 
now  began  hallooing  to  them  out  of  the  inter 
mittent  moonlight,  they  would  have  probably 
spent  the  night  with  us.  As  it  was,  they  yielded 


36  UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK 

at  last  to  their  comrade's  importuning,  and 
motioning  for  soda-crackers  for  him,  they  at  last 
made  off. 

"And  now, "  said  I,  as  the  trio  galloped  away, 
"we  '11  do  what  the  Pueblos  have  had  to  do  from 
the  dawn  of  time,  because  of  these  pestiferous 
Navajos;  we  '11  turn  cliff  dwellers. " 

While  there  had  still  been  daylight,  I  had 
noticed  high  up  in  the  face  of  a  cliff  near  us,  which 
was  a  spur  of  the  Acoma  Mesa,  a  shallow  cave, 
half  hidden  behind  a  great  boulder.  A  sand  dune 
had  formed  below  it  and  drifted  gradually  upward 
till  its  summit  flowed  into  the  cave  and  rendered 
the  latter  easily  accessible.  One  camping  there 
would  have  a  wide  outlook  over  the  plain  and  at 
the  same  time  be  remote  from  the  pathway  of 
travel  to  and  from  Acoma.  Thither  with  small 
labour  we  quickly  transported  our  blankets,  our 
cots,  and  ourselves,  leaving  other  things  to  be 
looked  after  by  Carlitos  when  he  should  arrive  in 
the  morning;  and  settling  down  behind  our  bul 
wark  boulder,  we  sought  sleep.  It  was  a  troublous 
night,  however;  for  although  no  more  Navajos 
came  in  the  flesh  to  disturb  us,  our  excited  fancies 
persisted  in  filling  the  rocky  space  with  their 


UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK  37 

skulking  forms  and  the  echoes  of  their  fiendish 
yells ;  and  when  the  stars  faded  in  the  white  dawn, 
our  eyes  were  still  unshut. 

We  had,  however,  unwittingly  stumbled  upon 
the  most  enjoyable  way  of  "doing"  Acoma.  An 
ancient  church  balcony,  though  enclosed  by  a 
genuine  antique  hand-carved  rail,  and  with  the 
Governor's  niece  to  serve  you  with  water  in  a 
decorated  Indian  jar,  is  undeniably  romantic;  but 
it  is,  strictly  speaking,  more  of  a  stage  property 
than  a  permanent  apartment  for  light  housekeep 
ing.  It  is,  besides,  very  public.  But  camping  as 
we  now  did,  with  Carlitos  on  guard  by  day  and 
our  cliff  chamber  to  sleep  in  by  night  (for  the 
disturbing  spectres  did  not  come  again),  we  had 
all  the  privacy  we  wanted,  could  mount  the  trail 
to  the  village  whenever  we  so  desired,  and  at  the 
same  time  saw  some  phases  of  the  happy  life  of 
the  Land  of  the  Terraced  Houses  which  otherwise 
we  should  have  missed. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  we  came  to  know  the 
spell  of  the  Enchanted  Mesa,  silhouetted  against 
the  sky  four  miles  away  and  melting  from  colour 
to  colour  in  the  changing  lights  of  the  day's  pro 
gress — now  clothed  in  indescribable  tones  of  pink, 


38  UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK 

of  red,  and  of  yellow,  and  again,  when  storm  clouds 
hovered  over  it,  paling  to  an  unearthly  white. 
The  changes  were  often  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
We  would  avert  our  faces  for  a  moment,  and  when 
we  looked  again,  a  new  glory  dwelt  there.  Most 
enchanting  was  the  Mesa  when  invested  in  the 
delicate  hues  of  dawn,  those  evanescent  tints 
which,  born  of  the  sun,  cannot  look  on  their  lord 
and  live — prophets  of  his  coming  who  perish  in  his 
ineffable  presence.  Every  morning  as  we  looked 
towards  the  flushing  east  from  our  gate  in  the 
cliff,  our  hearts  sang  an  involuntary  jubilate,  and 
we  could  not  wonder  that  the  Pueblos  regard  the 
sun  as  the  house  of  the  Divine.  Sun-worship 
seems  one  of  the  most  natural  of  religions  and  it  is 
no  credit  to  our  "advanced"  civilisation  that  we 
have  ceased  to  pray  at  every  dawn  and  to  marvel 
at  the  fresh  miracle  of  the  sunrise. 

With  the  dawn,  too,  the  birds  which  shared  our 
cliff  with  us,  waked,  and  after  divers  sleepy  chirp 
ings,  flew  abroad  to  the  business  of  their  day; 
certain  nervous  little  animals  in  grey  coats,  that 
we  knew  not,  peered  out  from  behind  stones  and 
rocks  and  scampered  away  in  the  sands,  and 
Brother  Coyote,  far  out  on  the  flowery  plain, 


UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK  39 

yelped  his  matin  notes  just  as  he  did  in  the  youth 
of  the  world  when  he  and  the  Pueblo  folk  spoke 
one  tongue. 

With  the  risen  sun,  Acoma  men,  singly  or  in 
pairs,  afoot  or  ahorseback,  would  come  by  on 
their  leisurely  way  to  the  corn-fields  in  the  plain. 
Often,  as  they  went,  their  joy  in  the  morning 
would  find  vent  in  songs,  quaint,  aboriginal 
melodies  pitched  high,  almost  like  Swiss  yodels, 
one  strain  repeated  over  and  over.  Descending 
to  our  Navajo  rocks  for  breakfast,  we  would  find 
Carlitos  sitting  by  the  bucket  of  fresh  water  which 
he  had  just  brought,  enjoying  his  matutinal 
cigarette.  Carlitos'  stock  of  English,  as  has  been 
stated,  was  negligible.  In  fact,  it  consisted,  so 
far  as  we  could  ascertain,  of  "Hello!"  picked  up 
from  the  courteous  diction  of  the  frontier  white 
population,  and  "Yes,"  which  complaisant  mono 
syllable  we  found  he  was  prone  to  use  so  indis 
criminately  as  to  be  a  pitfall  to  English-speaking 
inquirers  who  did  not  know  his  ways.  Like  most 
New  Mexican  Pueblos,  however,  he  knew  Spanish, 
and  it  was  thus  we  communicated  with  him.  And 
so  we  would  say  to  Carlitos,  seated  by  the  bucket, 
"Buenos  dias,"  and  he  would  smilingly  reply, 


40  UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK 

"Buenos  dias, "  and  the  intercourse  of  the  day  was 
pleasantly  begun. 

Our  camp  was  a  feature  that  attracted  all 
passers-by,  and  there  was  none  who  did  not  call 
on  us.  Our  first  visitors  were  two  old  men  in 
flapping  cotton  pantaloons  and  moccasins.  They 
were  en  route  for  wood  and  rabbits,  for  one  bore 
an  axe  on  his  shoulder  and  the  other  had  a  bow 
and  a  quiver  full  of  arrows  slung  at  his  back.  They 
shook  hands  all  around  and,  without  further 
formality,  sank  on  their  haunches  like  Orientals; 
then,  rolling  a  cigarette  apiece,  they  proceeded  to 
gossip  with  Carlitos  in  the  soft  tones  which  the 
Pueblo  religion  teaches  that  the  gods  commend 
not  only  in  women  but  in  men  also.  After  a 
decent  length  of  time,  they  rose  to  go,  when  their 
keen  eyes  spied  one  of  Sylvia's  water-colour  draw 
ings,  representing  a  street  in  Acoma.  They  caught 
it  up  eagerly,  and  hung  over  it  for  a  long  time, 
oh-ing  and  ah-ing,  tracing  the  lines  of  the  houses 
with  their  pointing  fingers,  disputing  together  ap 
parently  about  certain  features  which  were  not 
clear  to  them;  and  ending  up  with  a  laugh  all 
around,  they  departed  in  high  good  humour. 
When  we  sought  to  learn  from  Carlitos  what  the 


UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK  41 

turmoil  all  meant,  he  mildly  observed  that  they 
thought  the  picture  "mucho  bueno. "  The  pictures, 
indeed,  were  a  drawing  card  with  all  our  visitors, 
but  even  more  astonishing  than  pictures  was  a 
nickel-plated  collapsible  cup,  the  fame  of  whose 
magical  way  of  appearing  and  disappearing  spread 
abroad.  Perhaps  it  will  be  incorporated  in  Acoma 
traditions  and  some  twenty-fifth  century  folk- 
lorist  will  think  he  has  found  in  the  story  of  it 
another  moon  eclipse-  or  sun-myth. 

It  was  interesting  to  us  to  note  in  all  our  Indian 
callers  what  we  afterwards  found  to  be  character 
istic  of  unspoiled  Pueblos — that  they  never  begged 
and  never  lounged.  If  Carlitos  was  absent,  they 
would  sit  awhile  in  dignified  silence,  as  though  to 
be  companionable,  then  say  "adios"  and  move  on 
about  their  business;  but  there  was  no  suggestion 
of  the  loafer's  attitude  while  they  stayed.  They 
were  prodigal  of  time,  but  did  not  kill  it.  If  we 
offered  them  anything  to  eat  or  drink,  as  we  gener 
ally  did,  they  would  receive  it  gravely  and  either 
consume  it  on  the  spot  or  stow  it  away  in  their 
clothing.  Some  things  we  found  were  not  to  their 
liking;  but  salty  things,  such  as  bacon  or  salt- 
crackers,  they  found  very  tasty,  and  above  all  did 


42  UNDER  A  COMA'S  ROCK 

sweets  appeal  to  them — candy  or  sugar  or  a  bit  of 
preserve.  A  half-emptied  tin  of  sweetened  con 
densed  milk,  which  we  handed  to  a  couple  of 
women  one  day,  seemed  a  special  treat.  One 
marked  with  her  ringer  on  the  can  what  would  be 
half  the  contents,  and  after  drinking  to  the  line, 
handed  the  remainder  to  her  companion  to  finish. 
This  act  illustrated  another  point  we  found 
characteristic  of  Indian  nature — the  practice  of 
sharing  with  one  another.  Even  our  half-shot 
Navajos  had  done  that  with  their  soda-crackers. 
Small  Indian  adventures  these,  you  will  say,  but 
they  served  to  endear  to  us  these  gentle  Pueblos, 
whose  childlike  ways  seem  in  keeping  with  the 
present  era  of  peace  that  has  settled  on  our  Indian 
country;  and  when  our  Laguna  boy  came  to  take 
us  back  to  the  railroad,  we  felt  a  little  as  though 
we  were  leaving  home. 


-» "  W 

mm 
-jil 


Chapter  IV 

Of  the  Pueblos  of  tKe  Railroad   Side,  Laguna  and 

Isleta,  and  How  Manuel  Carpio  Sang 

in  tKe  Sun. 

YOU  will  find  them  both  rather  prosy  after 
Acoma;    but  if  you  want  a  -glimpse  of 
Pueblo  life  at  a  minimum  of  exertion  to 
yourself,  you  may  have  it  at  either  Laguna  or 
Isleta.     These  are  both  stations  on  the  Santa  Fe 
Railway,  and  the  traveller  has  but  to  step  from 
the  train  and  walk  a  few  rods  to  be  within  either 
pueblo. 

If  you  know  a  bit  of  Spanish,  you  will  remember 
that  laguna  means  a  lagoon  or  lake,  and  you 
wonder  at  such  a  name  for  this  village,  founded 
on  a  rock-bound  knoll,  with  not  even  a  duck  pond 
in  the  surrounding  plain.  It  seems,  however,  that 
in  olden  times,  there  was  really  a  marshy  lake 
there,  due  originally  to  the  constriction  of  the 
channel  of  the  neighbouring  little  Rio  de  San  Jos6 

43 


44  LACUNA  AND  ISLET  A 

by  a  lava-flow,  supplemented  by  the  work  of 
beavers,  which  industriously  dammed  the  nar 
rows.  The  river  waters,  thus  held  back,  spread 
out  in  the  form  of  a  lagoon,  and  hither  about  the 
end  of  the  seventeenth  century  came  certain 
pioneering  Pueblos  from  various  villages  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Santa  Fe  and  set  up  a  new  pueblo 
which  was  called — and  is  still  called  in  the  Laguna 
tongue — Kow-ike,  meaning,  they  say,  a  lake.  This 
unmusical  name  did  not  suit  the  Spanish,  who, 
when  they  visited  the  pueblo  to  exact  its  oath  of 
vassalage  to  his  Catholic  Caesarian  Majesty,  the 
King  of  Spain,  redubbed  it,  "San  Jose  de  la 
Laguna."  The  proximity  of  humanity  was  not 
agreeable  to  the  beavers  which,  in  the  course  of 
time,  levanted  and  left  their  dams  to  the  Pueblos 
to  maintain.  As  the  latter  liked  the  lake,  they 
accepted  the  legacy  of  the  beavers  and  kept  up  the 
dams  for  several  generations.  About  half  a  cen 
tury  ago,  however,  internal  dissension  developed 
in  the  community,  and  while  the  disputing  con 
tinued,  the  communal  work  was  neglected.  When 
peace  returned,  the  lake  was  gone  for  ever — 
vanished  through  breaches  unrepaired. 

Laguna  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  the  first 


LACUNA  AND  ISLET  A 


45 


pueblo  to  have  had  a  white  teacher  appointed  to  it 
by  the  United  States  Government.  That  was  in 
1871,  and  this  pueblo  has  ever  since  been  pretty 
much  under  the  thumb  of  the  white  educationists. 
A  white  man,  Robert  G.  Marmon,  was  even 
elected  governor  of  the  pueblo  at  one  time,  and 
under  the  irreverent  hand  of  American  domination, 
one  old-time  custom  after  another  has  been  swept 
into  the  ash-bin.  Whatever  essential  good,  if  any, 
may  have  accrued  to  Laguna  from  all  this,  it 
cannot  be  said  that  it  has  helped  Laguna's  man 
ners,  if  the  experience  of  Sylvia  and  myself  is  any 
criterion;  for  in  no  other  pueblo  were  we  so 
thoroughly  given  the  cold  shoulder  as  here,  and 
we  visited  it  several  times.  Sour  looks  and 
turned  backs  were  the  features  of  our  reception  at 
most  houses,  instead  of  the  smile  and  hospitable 
"entra"  which  the  average  Pueblo  extends  to  a 
visitor. 

"Oh,  yes,  we've  spoiled  them  both  with  ill- 
considered  philanthropy  and  continually  dumping 
impertinent  tourists  on  them  from  the  railroad 
here  to  pester  them  out  of  their  lives,"  remarked 
an  artist  whom  we  encountered  at  the  outskirts 
of  the  village,  at  work  under  a  big  umbrella;  for 


46  LACUNA  AND  ISLETA 

Laguna,  with  its  rambling,  hilly  streets  and  skyey 
vistas,  is  full  of  picturesque  bits  for  the  folk  of  the 
brush;  "if  I  were  king  for  a  day,  I  rd  have  a  tight 
stockade  built  about  every  pueblo  and  put  St. 
Peter  at  the  gate  to  keep  out  all  school  teachers 
and  missionaries  whatsoever,  and  every  tourist 
who  had  not  passed  a  previous  examination  in 
good  manners."1 

To  Isleta  the  railway  pays  the  especial  compli 
ment  of  there  stopping  even  its  transcontinental 
limited  trains,  and  travellers  are  thus  afforded  a 
leisurely  look  at  the  pueblo  and  an  opportunity  to 
buy  pottery  and  fruit  from  the  picturesque  Isleta 
girls,  who,  at  train  time,  flock  about  the  station 
platform  with  their  commodities.  The  Isletenos 
are  enterprising  traffickers  and,  in  a  small  way, 
commercial  travellers.  Not  depending  on  the 


1  Besides  their  main  pueblo  of  Laguna,  these  Indians  main 
tain  half  a  dozen  farming  villages  in  the  neighbourhood,  viz. : 
Seama,  Pahuate,  Paraje,  Mesita,  Casa  Blanca,  and  Santana, 
established  to  enable  the  people  to  be  near  certain  tracts  of 
cultivated  land.  The  jurisdiction  of  the  governor  and  council 
at  Laguna  extends  over  all  these  outlying  villages,  the  in 
habitants  of  which  consider  the  mother  pueblo  their  official 
home  and  repair  thither,  from  time  to  time,  for  the  joint  celebra 
tion  of  native  religious  ceremonies.  I  am  indebted  to  John  M. 
Gunn  of  Laguna  for  several  facts  as  to  the  pueblo  and  its  history, 
given  in  this  chapter. 


Pottery  seller,   Isleta. 


LACUNA  AND  ISLETA  47 

buyers  that  come  to  them,  they  quite  regularly 
make  up  bundles  of  the  small  pottery  knickknack- 
ery  which  tourists  love,  and  boarding  the  train, 
travel  up  to  Albuquerque  where  the  chances  of 
sale  are  more  numerous  than  at  Isleta.  Isleta 
pottery,  by  the  way,  is  only  good  enough  for 
tourists.  The  clay  of  the  neighbourhood  is  not  of 
the  kind  that  makes  first-class  ware,  and  so,  for 
their  own  use,  the  Isletas  buy  the  jars  of  Acoma. 
In  a  land  of  poco  tiempo,  like  New  Mexico,  there 
are  more  appropriate  methods  of  travel  than  by 
train,  and  if  you  are  at  Albuquerque  and  have  a 
day  and  six  or  seven  dollars  to  spare,  you  will  be 
doing  the  sensible  thing  by  getting  a  team,  put 
ting  a  luncheon  in  your  pocket,  and  driving  the 
dozen  miles  or  so  to  the  pueblo.  Do  not  have  a 
driver ;  there  is  no  danger  of  missing  the  way,  and 
I  never  knew  a  hired  driver  yet  that  did  not  spoil 
a  trip — he  is  always  in  such  haste  to  get  it  over. 
The  road  is  a  broad  highway  skirting  the  wide 
waters  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  in  all  the  South- West,  particularly  in 
the  late  autumn,  when  the  great  cottonwoods, 
in  their  yellow  glory,  are  lifted  against  the  blue 
sky  like  gold  on  turquoise. 


48  LAGUNA  AND  ISLETA 

So,  one  morning,  through  the  delicious  October 
sunshine  did  Sylvia  and  I  fare  to  Isleta,  traversing 
a  typical  New  Mexico  farming  country,  where 
drying  chili-peppers  streaked  the  landscape  with 
scarlet,  and  ragged  shepherds  tended  bands  of 
sheep.  Now  and  again  we  jogged  through  quaint 
adobe  villages,  mellowed  by  time's  kindly  touch 
and  embowered  in  trees  and  shrubbery ;  and  where, 
about  the  store  porches,  groups  of  Mexicans  were 
lounging  picturesquely  in  the  genial  sunshine  and, 
perhaps,  thinking  a  bit  of  what  they  should  do  on 
the  morrow ;  for  that  day  was  too  good  to  waste  in 
work.  Other  travellers  passed  us  on  the  way  to 
Albuquerque,  and  men  driving  burros  laden  with 
boxes  of  country  produce  touched  their  hats  to 
us  and  wished  us  ' '  Buenos  dias. ' '  Once  a  Mexican 
wedding  party  filed  past  us — a  string  of  buggies, 
farm  waggons,  and  other  nondescript  vehicles.  In 
the  lead  were  the  bride  and  groom  in  a  buggy  to 
themselves,  she  looking  seriously  into  a  bouquet 
in  her  hand  and  he  silently  regarding  the  road 
between  the  horse's  ears,  while  the  end  of  the  pro 
cession  was  brought  up  by  an  open  spring  waggon, 
in  which  the  orchestra — a  violin,  a  flute,  and  a 
guitar — sat  in  chairs  and  weightily  smoked  cigar- 


LAGUNA  AND  ISLETA  49 

ritos.  It  was  a  taciturn  company  altogether,  and 
we  wondered  if  there  had  been  a  hitch  in  the  pro 
ceedings  or  if  it  was  the  fashion  with  Mexican 
weddings  to  begin  thus  solemnly. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  corn  harvest  and  we  found 
Isleta  literally  buried  under  the  drying  ears  of 
many  colours,  spread  out  to  sun  upon  the  roofs, 
and  in  the  little  plazitas  before  the  houses,  each 
plazita  with  a  neat  pathway  to  the  door,  left  in 
the  midst  of  the  corn.  We  asked  a  woman  looking 
out  from  a  doorway  for  permission  to  photograph 
her  yard  full  of  corn,  and  she  nodded  acquiescence, 
backing  into  the  shadow  of  the  room.  As  we 
wanted  her  also  in  the  picture,  we  invited  her  into 
the  light;  but  she  still  held  back.  American-like, 
I  thought  she  wanted  to  be  paid. 

"  Diez  centavos,"  said  I,  holding  out  a  dime. 

"No  quiero,"  from  the  darkness. 

"Dos  reales,"  I  bid  up,  showing  a  quarter. 

"I  no  wish,"  repeated  the  darkness. 

Then  Sylvia  stepped  into  the  doorway  and, 
taking  a  seat  that  was  hospitably  proffered, 
explained  carefully  our  desire  to  make  the  picture 
complete  with  an  Isleta  figure.  Then  the  truth 
came  out.  The  woman,  it  seems,  did  not  live  in 


50  LACUNA  AND  ISLET  A 

that  house;  she  was  only  a  visitor  and  it  was  not 
right  for  her  to  have  her  picture  taken  in  another 
woman's  house.  By  and  by,  the  other  woman 
would  come  home  and  maybe  she  would  let  us 
photograph  her  in  the  door;  for  it  was  her  own 
house  and  that  would  be  proper. 

"But  me,  no,"  concluded  the  woman  in  a  tone 
that  showed  further  parley  hopeless. 

On  its  architectural  side,  Isleta  differs  markedly 
from  the  conventional  pueblo,  being  built  liberally 
over  a  wide  space,  with  great  trees  in  and  around 
it,  and  the  houses,  as  a  rule,  are  of  but  one  story 
instead  of  being  terraced.  They  are  neat  and 
comfortable  homes,  furnished  more  or  less  on  the 
American  plan,  with  bedsteads,  tables,  and  chairs, 
and  now  and  then  a  chest  of  drawers.  In  most, 
however,  an  Indian  flavour  is  preserved  by  Navajo 
rugs  spread  upon  the  floors  or  folded  as  mattresses 
upon  benches  extending  along  the  whitewashed 
walls.  The  Isletenos  are  a  thrifty  community 
and  everything  about  their  pueblo  betokens  it. 
Proud  and  independent,  they  are,  nevertheless, 
not  averse  to  American  innovations  of  a  certain 
sort,  when  convinced  of  their  suitability  to  Isleta, 
and  they  know  as  much  as  you  and  I  about  mow- 


LACUNA  AND  ISLET  A  51 

ing-machines,  for  instance,  and  baling  alfalfa.  Like 
all  Pueblos,  they  work  literally  night  and  day 
when  the  crops  demand  it ;  when  nothing  is  pressing 
they  have  abundant  leisure  and  know  how  to 
enjoy  it. 

This  explains  our  finding  old  Manuel  Carpio 
seated  in  his  American  chair  in  the  sunshine  of  his 
plazita,  singing  an  aboriginal  ditty  at  midday. 
His  corn  was  all  in  the  house;  his  melons  were 
sliced  and  drying  on  the  roof  or  jacketed  in  yucca 
strips  and  swinging  from  the  rafters  indoors  to 
keep  till  winter;  his  chili -peppers  were  sunning  in  a 
vivid  row  above  the  door;  and  had  not  his  wife,  at 
that  very  moment,  four  fat  sacks  of  wheat  safe  in 
the  little  black  storeroom  where  her  wafer-bread 
stones  were  set?  There  was  something  to  sing 
about;  why  should  he  not  sing?  Seeing  us  looking 
through  his  bit  of  wicket  gate,  he  beckoned  us 
within,  called  to  his  wife  to  fetch  two  more  chairs, 
and  proceeded  to  find  out,  as  well  as  our  lame 
Spanish  would  let  him,  where  we  came  from, 
where  we  were  going,  and  how  much  Sylvia 
would  take  for  the  fur  boa  which  she  wore  about 
her  shoulders  and  which  was  evidently  very 
lovely  in  the  eyes  of  both  Manuel  and  his 


52  LACUNA  AND  ISLETA 

spouse,  for  their  eyes  glistened  as  they  handed 
it  from  one  to  the  other,  stroking  it  longingly. 

We  shall  always  think  of  Isleta  as  a  very  honest 
place;  for,  on  leaving  the  Carpio  home,  Sylvia 
forgot  the  boa,  and  before  she  had  discovered  the 
loss,  behold  Martini ta  running  laughingly  down 
the  street  after  us,  holding  out  the  coveted  article 
in  her  hand.  Her  Pueblo  nature  had  merely  seen 
a  great  joke  in  what  another  might  have  seized 
as  an  opportunity  for  theft  of  a  coveted  treasure. I 

1  Isleta  has  been  given  a  special  place  in  literature  through  the 
delightful  stories  of  Charles  F.  Lummis,  who  spent  some  years 
as  an  inhabitant  of  the  village  and  had  unusual  opportunities  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  inner  life  of  this  most  interesting 
people.  With  unusual  sympathy  he  has  given  expression  to  this 
life  in  several  of  his  books — notably  A  New  Mexico  David,  and 
Pueblo  Indian  Folk  Stories. 


Chapter  V 

Of  the  THree  Pvieblos  of  tKe  Jemez   River  Valley, 
and  SomewHat  of  JoHn  Pavil,  tKe  CowHead 

IT  was  a  little  after  seven  on  a  frosty  October 
morning  when  the  Overland  deposited  me  at 
Bernalillo  and  I  looked  into  the  welcoming 
Spanish  face  of  Juan  Pablo  Cabeza  de  Vaca,  who 
was  there  in  response  to  my  telegram  sent  the  day 
before.  Nearby  stood  his  team  of  two  natty 
little  mares  and  an  open  buggy.  Juan  Pablo 
himself  was  attired  in  his  Sunday  best  and  wore  a 
new,  wide-brimmed  sombrero  with  a  wonderful 
hat-band.  He  was  about  to  make  ten  dollars 
or  possibly  fifteen,  and  the  occasion  warranted 
some  outlay  for  personal  adornment. 

"Little  cold  weather  this  morning, "  he  observed 
affably,  as  we  climbed  into  the  buggy.  "You 
want  to  Jemez1 — no?" 

I  answered : ' '  Yes,  by  way  of  Santa  Ana  and  Sia. ' ' 

1  Pronounced  Ha'-mess. 

53 


54  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

"Bueno,"  he  replied,  pulling  on  his  gauntlets 
and  picking  up  the  lines.  "Let  's  go!" 

Trotting  jauntily  through  the  wide,  leisurely 
streets  of  the  picturesque  old  county  town,  where 
no  one  was  yet  stirring,  past  the  court-house,  and 
down  the  shady  lane  behind  the  padre's,  we  came 
out  upon  a  bleak  little  bridge  that  here  spans  the 
treacherous  current  of  the  Rio  Grande.  Crossing 
upon  this  and  climbing  a  steep  grade,  we  topped  a 
broad  mesa,  sunburnt  and  wind-swept.  There 
before  us,  mile  upon  mile,  stretched  white,  desert 
sands,  and  far  on  the  north  horizon  Cabezon 
lifted  his  dim,  round  head  by  the  Rio  Puerco  ol  the 
Navajos. 

Somewhere  at  our  backs  along  the  willow- 
fringed  river,  not  far  from  where  we  had  crossed, 
Coronado's  army,  three  hundred  and  seventy 
years  ago,  spent  their  first  New  Mexico  winter, 
quartering  themselves  in  an  Indian  pueblo,  from 
which  the  inhabitants  were  obliged  to  turn  out  and 
double  up  with  their  friends  in  an  adjoining  village. 
According  to  the  Spanish  chronicles,  there  were 
at  that  time  a  dozen  pueblos  in  that  vicinity,  the 
largest  being  known  as  Tiguex.  The  result  of  an 
idle  army  of  adventurers  wintering  in  their  midst 


JEMEZ   VALLEY  PUEBLOS  55 

was  what  the  reader  of  American  history  will  know 
without  being  told — first  rapine  and  ravishment 
by  the  whites,  then  retaliation  by  the  outraged 
Pueblos,  and  finally  a  wholesale  slaughter  of  In 
dians  to  teach  the  rest  a  lesson. 

Coronado's  lieutenant,  Alvarado,  the  first  white 
man  to  see  the  Tiguex  country,  which  this  October 
morning  I  looked  down  upon,  described  the  region 
as  a  broad  plain  by  the  river,  "sown  with  corn 
plants" — a  description  measurably  apt  to-day,  as 
Juan  Pablo  showed  me.  Pointing  with  his  whip 
up-stream,  where  the  river  came  flowing  out  of  the 
east  through  yellowing  willows  and  cotton  woods, 
as  between  ribbons  of  gold,  he  said, 

"You  see  some  corn  stalks?  That  is  Ranchitos 
de  Sant'  Ana — the  little  ranches  of  Santa  Ana,  you 
say.  The  Sant'  Ana  Indians  they  have  a  summer 
pueblo  there  along  the  river,  and  raise  everything 
they  eat,  because  the  old  pueblo  land  back  in  the 
desert  where  we  go,  no  good  for  crops.  They  haul 
everything  back  to  the  old  pueblo  to  eat  up  in 
winter  time;  then,  in  the  spring,  move  down  again 
at  the  river  and  raise  some  more.  Pretty  soon  we 
see  people  hauling  corn  for  old  pueblo.  After- 
while  come  winter" — and  Juan  Pablo  shivered 


56  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

dramatically — "and  everybody  from  Ranchitos 
go  to  old  pueblo  for  stay.  Lots  of  work  that 
makes,  no?  but  what  else  can  they  do?  Old 
pueblo  good  for  stay  in.  Ranchitos  good  for 
crops.  You  see?" 

As  we  passed  over  the  next  hill  and  down  into  a 
huge  basin  in  the  sand-dunes,  waterless  as  Sahara, 
Juan  Pablo's  prediction  was  realised  and  we  over 
hauled  a  train  of  laden  Studebaker  waggons  at 
which  teams  of  scrawny  Indian  ponies  were  tugging, 
urged  on  by  the  cracking  whips  of  half  a  dozen 
picturesque  Pueblos  in  flapping  shirts  and  red 
bandas,  plunging  afoot  through  the  sand  alongside. 
There  was  a  joke  in  the  situation  somewhere,  and 
Juan  Pablo  and  the  Indians  bandied  it  about 
among  them  with  good-humoured  laughter,  until 
we  left  them  in  the  rear.  As  the  talk  was  an 
unintelligible  mixture  of  Indian  and  Mexican,  I 
could  only  guess  how  funny  it  was;  but  doubtless 
it  was  only  a  bit  of  the  elemental  joy  of  childhood, 
which  the  Pueblo  Indian  never  outgrows. 

In  an  hour  our  wheels  were  crunching  over  the 
broad  flats  of  the  Jemez  River  at  Santa  Ana,  where 
the  white  alkali  fringed  the  river  sides  like  a  snow 
fall.  Fording  the  thread  of  a  stream,  we  mounted 


JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS  57 

the  hill  past  the  picturesque  Spanish  church,  and 
halted  in  the  deserted  pueblo.  Doors  were  pad 
locked,  windows  boarded  up,  and  the  silence  was  so 
oppressive  that  even  the  barking  of  the  mongrel 
dogs,  which  are  the  sentinels  and  scavengers  of 
every  live  Indian  village,  would  have  been  wel 
come. 

"Everybody  away  at  Ranchitos,  like  I  said," 
observed  Juan  Pablo.  ' '  You  like  to  walk  around  ? ' ' 

When  I  returned  from  an  uneventful  pasear, 
Juan  Pablo  had  found  a  gossip — an  old  Indian  who, 
it  seems,  was  the  village  caretaker  in  the  absence 
of  the  population.  He  appeared  anything  but 
easy  with  our  presence  there,  even  the  solace  of  a 
gift  of  tobacco  failing  to  quiet  him,  and  when,  as 
we  were  starting  away,  I  opened  my  kodak  to  take 
a  picture  of  the  village  estufa,  his  suspicions  were 
thoroughly  awakened.  He  put  his  finger  hesitat 
ingly  on  the  camera  and,  leaning  into  the  buggy, 
asked  in  excited  Spanish  what  we  were  doing. 

"Brujeando,"  replied  Juan  Pablo  calmly. 

The  poor  Indian  leaped  back  as  if  he  were  shot, 
and  flinging  his  arms  up,  cried,  with  fear  depicted 
on  every  line  of  his  countenance : 

"  Vamos,  vamos,  vamos  I" 


58  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

"What 's  it  all  mean?"  I  asked  of  Juan  Pablo, 
as  we  drove  off.  "What  did  you  tell  him?" 

The  descendant  of  the  Cowhead  grinned. 

"He  want  to  know  what  you  do  with  that 
machine.  I  told  him  you  going  to  make  witches 
in  the  pueblo.  He  thought  I  was  tell'  the  truth 
and  was  scare'.  Then  he  say  get  out !" 

Which  was  to  be  expected;  for  belief  in  witch 
craft  is  as  active  an  influence  among  Pueblo  In 
dians  to-day  as  it  was  among  our  own  respected 
forbears  two  or  three  centuries  ago. 

That  the  Santa  Anas  should  shut  up  their  pueblo 
every  spring  and  summer,  as  a  millionaire  closes 
his  city  house,  transport  themselves,  bag  and 
baggage,  to  their  farming  village  by  the  river,  and 
every  autumn  haul  their  gathered  crops  laboriously 
across  ten  miles  of  sandy,  sun-scorched  desert  to 
the  pueblo  again,  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the 
love  of  home  ingrained  in  the  Indian  nature.  To 
the  Yankee  mind,  the  obvious  dictate  of  common- 
sense  would  be  to  quit  the  worn-out  desert  land, 
and  settle  permanently  by  the  river,  where  soil  is 
tillable  and  water  abundant.  That  would  mean, 
however,  the  severance  of  old  associations,  sacred 
and  personal,  which  bind  their  spirits  mightily  to 


II 


JEMEZ   VALLEY  PUEBLOS  59 

the  crumbling  old  pueblo  where  the  desert  voices 
call.  Of  course,  the  Pueblo,  under  stress,  does 
leave  his  dead- — the  South -West  is  marked  with 
ruined  terraced  towns,  which  attest  his  rovings 
long  centuries  since ;  but  adverse  circumstance  has 
not  yet  been  strong  enough  to  make  the  people 
of  Santa  Ana  abandon  the  spot  where  their  fathers 
lived,  died,  and  are  buried.  Thither  they  return 
not  only  with  the  winter  frosts,  but  on  occasions 
throughout  the  summer  to  bury  their  dead,  and 
to  render  thanksgiving  and  praise  to  the  gods  of 
their  destinies. 

From  Santa  Ana  it  is  six  miles  or  so  of  desert 
travelling  to  Sia,  perched  upon  a  Moqui-like 
promontory  jutting  out  above  the  Jemez  River. 
This  is  the  most  pathetic  of  all  the  pueblos,  for  it 
knows  it  is  fighting  extinction.  The  ground  upon 
which  it  stands  is  a  barren  hill  strewn  with  dark, 
round  stones  of  malpais,  and  before  it  and  below, 
extends  the  broad  Jemez  wash,  winding  mile  after 
mile,  leprous  white  with  alkali,  among  the  dunes  of 
the  desert.  Far  away  on  the  north-eastern  horizon 
stretches  the  long  chain  of  the  Jemez  Mountains 
with  their  romance  of  the  Cliff  Dwellers'  buried 
cities,  and  ancient  shrines  of  a  vanished  people. 


60  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

Once  among  the  finest  and  most  populous  of  all 
the  pueblos,  according  to  the  chronicles  of  the 
Conquistador es,  who  set  it  down  as  Chia,  Sia  is  now 
desolate,  its  population  dwindled  through  wars 
and  epidemics  to  a  bare  hundred,  its  buildings  in 
partial  ruin,  and  its  light  all  but  gone  out.  As  we 
drove  in,  the  Governor,  a  fine-looking  man  in 
orthodox  Pueblo  costume — flapping,  white,  cotton 
trousers  and  cotton  shirt,  worn  blouse-like  outside 
of  them,  his  head  encircled  with  a  red  banda  and 
without  a  hat,  his  feet  encased  in  home-made 
moccasins — came  down  to  meet  us  and  shook 
hands  hospitably.  Most  of  the  dwellings  are 
tenantless  and,  to  the  casual  visitor,  the  place 
seems  hopelessly  lifeless  and  uninteresting.  Yet 
here  in  moribund  Sia  a  Government  ethnologist, 
not  long  ago,  spent  a  year  with  the  richest  results, 
enabling  her  to  write  one  of  the  most  illuminating 
and  readable  scientific  reports  extant  upon  any  of 
the  Pueblo  communities.  * 

Apart  from  the  pueblo  at  the  foot  of  the  mesa, 
stands  a  small  American  building  with  a  flagstaff 
before  it,  betokening  a  schoolhouse.  Government 
Indian  teachers,  in  my  experience,  are  rather  curt 

1  The  Sia,  by  Matilda  Coxe  Stevenson. 


Ysidro,  Governor  of  Sia,  in  native  attire. 


JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS  61 

towards  self-invited  visitors;  but  the  one  at  Sia,  to 
my  surprise,  proved  to  be  a  real  lady,  who  extended 
me,  stranger  that  I  was,  as  cordial  a  welcome  as 
any  Pueblo  ever  offered  me,  and  that  is  the  best 
praise  I  know.  Moreover,  she  possessed  unusual 
qualification,  by  virtue  of  sympathy  with  Pueblo 
Indian  nature,  to  teach  this  sensitive  people. 

"  But  it  is  sad  business  teaching  here  at  Sia,"  she 
remarked,  "and  watching  the  dying  of  a  race. 
They  are  so  reduced  in  numbers,  it  is  no  longer 
possible  for  them  to  keep  up  their  institutions  and 
their  healthfulness  in  the  way  their  traditions  re 
quire  them  to  do ;  yet  they  would  rather  die  out 
as  Sias  than  amalgamate  with  another  pueblo. 
The  Santa  Ana  people  would  like  them  to  go 
over  there,  which  would  seem  a  sensible  course, 
strengthening  both  peoples ;  but  the  Sias  cannot 
bring  themselves  to  the  surrender.  It  shows  a 
fine  spirit,  I  think,  and  I  cannot  help  honouring 
them  for  it,  suicidal  as  it  is.  At  evening,  as  I  sit 
here  on  my  porch,  looking  up  at  the  pueblo  there, 
I  often  watch  the  old  men  walk  along  to  that  point 
jutting  into  the  river,  and  there  they  stand  for  the 
longest  time,  looking  pathetically  out  over  the 
desert  and  up  and  down  the  river,  until  the  dark- 


62  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

ness  shuts  down  on  them.  I  always  wonder  what 
their  thoughts  are :  whether  it  is  despair  brooding 
over  a  prosperous  past — for  Sia  was  a  great  pueblo 
once — or  hope  in  some  promised  saviour  of  their 
people,  whose  coming  may  any  time  gladden  their 
eyes.  But  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  despair/' 

The  sun  was  near  its  setting  as  our  brisk  little 
team  splashed  through  the  swift  waters  of  the 
upper  Jemez  River,  seven  miles  beyond  Sia,  and 
bore  us  into  Jemez  Pueblo,  a  homelike  village 
with  a  picturesque  setting  of  mountains  at  its  back 
and  a  pleasant  green  valley  dropping  away  before 
it.  The  peaceful  evening  scene  was  typical  Pueblo. 
The  smoke  from  indoor  fires,  where  the  evening 
meals  were  preparing,  rose  straight  from  scores  of 
chimneys  into  the  sweet,  still  air;  fathers  and 
grandfathers  sat  at  their  doorways,  nursing  little 
red  babies  as  tenderly  as  ever  women  did,  for  to 
the  masculine  Indian  heart  nothing  is  more  pre 
cious  than  the  dimpled  flesh  of  childhood;  girls, 
bearing  water- jars  upon  their  heads,  pattered  into 
the  pueblo  from  the  river,  and  glad  burros,  dis 
charged  of  their  burdens,  tripped  it  lightly  into 
their  corrals.  In  the  street  before  many  houses 
men  were  chopping  wood,  while  from  open  doors 


JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS          63 

came  the  pleasant  hum  of  the  metate  and  the 
fragrance  of  grinding  corn;  and  through  all  rippled 
the  soft  laughter  of  romping  children,  mingled, 
now  and  then,  with  a  scrap  of  song  from  some 
grown-up's  lips. 

Jemez  enjoys  the  blessing  of  a  bountiful  water 
supply,  which  issues  from  the  canons  at  its  back. 
Fruit  orchards  and  vineyards  extend  down  to  the 
river  side,  so  that  the  menus  of  Jemez  are  as  varied 
as  Isleta's,  and  in  good  years  there  is  a  surplus  of 
agricultural  products  to  sell.  To  the  tourist,  a 
picturesque  feature  of  the  pueblo  is  an  establish 
ment  of  Franciscan  Brothers,  set  up  here  for  the 
conversion  of  the  Indians,  both  Pueblo  and  Navajo, 
in  that  corner  of  New  Mexico.  The  Brothers, 
clad  in  their  brown  gowns  and  cowls  and  wearing 
the  white  cord  of  the  order  around  their  waists, 
work  in  the  fields  and  about  the  mission  buildings, 
and  help  us  to  picture  that  early  day  of  the  Spanish 
occupancy  which  was  for  the  avowed  purpose  of 
seeing  "that  the  Indians  should  become  Christians 
and  know  the  true  God  for  their  Lord  and  His 
Majesty  the  King  of  Spain  for  their  earthly 
sovereign."  In  return  for  their  spiritual  offices, 
the  Brothers  collect  from  the  Indians  a  tax  in  kind 


64  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

— that  is,  chili,  wheat,  corn,  etc. — which  is  readily 
converted  into  money  at  the  trader's. 

The  trader,  who  has  a  room  or  two  at  the  dis 
posal  of  travellers,  was  eloquent  to  me  in  his  esti 
mation  of  his  red  clientele.  He  said  that,  in  the 
thirty  years  he  had  lived  in  the  neighbourhood, 
he  had  never  heard  of  a  man  being  killed  in  Jemez 
pueblo, — a  record  not  likely  to  be  equalled  in  any 
American  town  of  the  same  size,  he  thought. 

"Of  course,"  he  remarked,  "they  have  their 
spats;  but  they  talk  it  out,  make  up,  and  forget 
about  it.  When  it  comes  to  farming,  they  are  just 
natural-born  farmers  and  irrigators.  There  was  a 
government  farmer  here,  paid  to  teach  them;  but 
he  could  n't  tell  them  much  that  would  stick.  And 
when  it  comes  to  work  in  irrigating  land,  no  white 
man  can  stand  up  with  them.  The  Indians  just 
take  off  all  their  clothes,  except  a  breech-clout,  and 
wade  right  in.  There  is  nothing  about  water  that 
buffaloes  them  and  they  don't  want  no  dinky  hoe, 
neither.  Why,  bless  you!  you  can't  get  a  hoe 
too  big  for  them.  There  was  an  old  scoop  shovel 
that  I  had  here,  lying  about  the  place,  which  was 
just  naturally  rusting  away,  and  one  of  them  In 
dians  come  in  one  day  and  asked  me  if  I  would  n't 


JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS          65 

let  him  have  it.  I  said:  'Why,  what  in  thunder 
do  you  want  of  that?*  'Why,'  he  says,  'it's 
'ueno  for  hoe. '  Why,  you  know,  the  thing  was 
nearly  three  feet  across  and  I  could  n't  see  how  he 
could  lift  it;  but  he  could  and,  next  thing  I  knew, 
he  'd  made  a  peach  of  a  hoe  out  of  it. 

"Religious?  Well,  they  don't  mind  belongin' 
to  the  Catholic  Church.  You  see,  the  Catholics 
don't  particularly  interfere  with  their  native 
religion,  which  is  the  only  religion  that  really  goes 
down  with  them,  and  they  never  let  up  on  that. 
All  through  the  year,  they  have  their  own  religious 
dances.  There  is  one  that  comes  in  January  that 
would  pay  you  to  come  out  to  see.  It  is  a  dance 
of  animals — buffaloes,  antelopes,  and  turkeys. 
They  call  it  'Los  Reyes' — that 's  Spanish  for 
Kings.  There  is  a  story  that  once  some  dancers, 
way  back,  turned  into  animals,  and  these  Jemez 
folks  think  that  they  are  liable  to  come  home  every 
year;  so  they  go  out  at  the  time  of  this  dance  early 
in  the  morning,  before  sunrise,  and  after  watching 
a.  bit  on  the  mesa  back  of  the  pueblo,  they  come 
down  to  the  plaza  and  dance  all  day.  Every 
morning  there 's  something  doing  out  on  that 
mesa,  I  think;  because  the  Indian  priests  go  up 

5 


66  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

there  and  what  goes  on  we  white  folks  don't  know ; 
but  it  has  something  to  do  with  their  religion. 
The  Presbyterians  started  a  mission  here  once  and 
they  sure  worked  hard  for  several  years;  but  all  it 
netted  them  was  one  convert.  He  was  a  black 
smith  here — was  n't  no  good,  anyhow,  and  finally 
stole  a  man's  gun  and  got  arrested,  and  then  the 
Presbyterians  excommunicated  him.  After  that, 
they  decided  to  let  Jemez  go  to  Hades  its  own  way. 

"Drinking?  Well,  of  course  they  do  some 
drinking;  but  it  is  mostly  their  own  wine.  They 
have  lots  of  vineyards  around  here  and  make  wine 
and  barrel  it  up,  and  as  long  as  it  lasts,  of  course, 
they  drink  it.  But  I  don't  know  as  it  harms  them 
much.  It  certainly  is  n't  as  bad  as  sulphuric  acid 
whiskey  that  they  would  get  from  the  bootleggers. 
The  big  fiesta  that  they  have  on  the  twelfth  of 
November,  which  is  their  Saint's  Day,  is  very  apt 
to  wind  up  in  a  jollification  when  they  all  get 
drunk,  and  I  suppose  it  would  be  better  if  they 
did  n't ;  but  I  don't  know  how  it  is  going  to  be 
stopped.  That  is  a  big  show — you  ought  to  see  it : 
all  sorts  here, — Navajos,  Apaches,  Mexicans,  and 
Indians  from  other  pueblos. " 

Shortly  after  supper,  the  trader  closed  up  his 


JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS          67 

store  and  he  and  I  adjourned  to  his  living  room  to 
enjoy  the  warmth  of  an  open  wood  fire.  There 
we  were  joined  by  an  itinerant  chili  buyer  who  had 
been  over  at  the  Brothers'  house  negotiating  for 
their  stock  of  chili. 

"They  're  sports  all  right, "  he  said,  as  he  bit  off 
the  end  of  a  cigar  and  stretched  out  his  feet  toward 
the  grateful  warmth.  "They  don't  stand  on  no 
two-and-a-half  cents  a  string  like  some  folks  I 
know"  (with  a  wink  at  me  and  a  jerk  of  his  head 
toward  the  imperturbable  trader),  "and  they 
always  set  out  a  bottle  of  wine. " 

"You  bet  these  Pueblo  Indians  ain't  half  a 
bad  lot,"  said  the  trader,  as  though  he  had  not 
heard.  "I  say  they  're  one  o'  the  best  assets  that 
this  country  has.  They  're  hard  workers  by  night 
just  the  same  as  by  day,  when  the  moon's  right  an' 
the  crops  need  it;  and  then,  when  they  can  be 
spared  from  the  pueblo,  lots  of  'em  go  up  to 
Colorado  and  work  in  the  fields  there  at  wages.  I 
sometimes  think  they  just  naturally  like  to  work, 
the  way  they  joke  and  laugh  about  it  when  a  white 
man  'd  just  swear  and  sweat  sulphur;  but,  say, 
they  sure  are  funny  to  trade  with.  You  know, 
it 's  Indian  nature  to  be  close-mouthed.  If  you 


68  JEMEZ  VALLEY  PUEBLOS 

want  to  get  any  information  out  of  an  Indian,  it  's 
no  use  asking  him  straight  questions  like  you 
would  a  white  man.  He  just  plumb  shuts  up. 
And  it 's  the  same  way  when  he  comes  to  trade 
with  you.  You  got  to  let  him  tell  what  he  has  to 
tell  when  he  's  ready.  Just  for  instance — one 
come  into  the  store  to-day  and  asked  for  a  spool  o' 
thread.  I  knew  it  was  n't  no  use  to  ask  him  what 
kind  of  thread  he  wanted;  so  I  guessed  black  fifty 
and  set  it  out.  He  shook  his  head  and  said  he 
wanted  big  thread.  So  I  guessed  again  and  put 
out  black  number  eight.  '  No  bueno, '  he  said  and 
handed  it  back.  '  Blanco, '  he  says,  meaning  white. 
So  I  handed  him  out  a  spool  o'  white  thread  and 
that  stuck.  You  see,  that  took  up  about  five 
minutes  of  my  time  and  his;  but  it  was  interestin' 
and  time  's  nothing  to  an  Indian. " 


.5    3 

"£.  *rt 


- 


Chapter  VI 

Of  OtHer  Pueblos  of  tKe  Upper  Rio   Grande,  and 
How  Santiago  Quintana  Travelled  for  Shells. 

WITHIN  a  distance  of  about  fifty  miles 
east  of  Albuquerque,  along  the  Rio 
Grande,  is  a  chain  of  four  pueblos, 
three  of  which  are  plainly  visible  from  the  train 
and  contribute  their  quota  to  the  entertainment 
of  the  car  window  traveller. 

The  first  of  these  is  Sandia,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Sierra  de  Sandia,  beyond  which,  near  Cerrillos,  are 
the  ancient  turquoise  mines  of  the  Pueblos.  Sandia 
is  a  moribund  little  place  whose  present  population 
is  only  about  seventy-five  and  half  its  houses  are 
tumbledown  or  transformed  into  corrals  and  store 
rooms.  It  presents  little  interest  to  the  casual 
visitor,  but  is  rather  important  in  its  own  estima 
tion  at  the  time  of  the  autumn  harvests,  when  it 
enjoys  a  brief  heyday  of  prosperity  through  the 
selling  of  corn  and  alfalfa  to  itinerant  Mexican 
buyers  who  frequent  the  pueblo  at  that  time. 

69 


70  SANDIA  TO  COCHITI 

After  the  Pueblo  revolt  against  the  Spanish  rule 
in  1680,  the  Sandians  for  some  reason — so  the  old 
men  say — vacated  their  pueblo  and  moved  to 
Moqui.  A  half  century  later,  they  returned  to  the 
old  home,  whether  on  account  of  the  aridity  of 
Moqui  or  because  the  voices  of  the  past  irresistibly 
called  them,  the  historians  do  not  say.  However, 
they  did  not  prosper ;  and  ill-fortune,  in  the  Pueblo 
philosophy,  means  that  the  spell  of  witchcraft  is 
on  you.  So  Sandia  settled  down  to  witch-baiting 
so  earnestly  and  so  successfully  that,  to-day,  there 
are  not  only  no  witches  there,  but  almost  nobody 
else. 

The  next  in  order  of  this  chain  of  pueblos  is  San 
Felipe  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Rio  Grande. 
You  may,  if  you  choose,  drop  off  the  train  at  a 
flag  station  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the  pueblo 
and  walk  to  the  river,  taking  your  chances  of  being 
ferried  across  by  a  team  or  pillioned  behind  some 
passing  horseman.  For  myself,  I  found  it  more 
agreeable  to  leave  the  train  at  Bernalillo  and 
engage  Juan  Pablo  to  drive  me  ten  miles  up  the 
pleasant  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  through  its 
rustling  "corn  plants"  and  its  whispering  willows. 

After  an  hour  of  this,  our  proximity  to  the 


SANDIA  TO  COCHITI  71 

pueblo  was  indicated  by  our  meeting  Indians, 
sometimes  on  horseback,  sometimes  on  foot,  some 
times  in  Studebaker  waggons,  on  their  way  to  the 
trader's  tienda  beneath  the  shady  cottonwoods  at 
Algodones.  One  old  man  in  his  bright  red  banda 
and  clubbed  chongo,  his  old-fashioned,  flapping, 
cotton  pantaloons  and  moccasins,  was  such  a  good 
picture  of  the  ancient  Pueblo  type  that  we  bar 
gained  with  him  for  his  retrato.  He  was  at  first 
reluctant  to  consent;  but  when  some  of  his 
brethren  from  the  pueblo,  travelling  the  same  road, 
were  out  of  sight  behind  a  bend  in  the  highway,  he 
courageously  agreed  to  accept  a  quarter  and  stand 
for  the  picture,  but  was  manifestly  nervous  until 
the  operation  was  over,  lest  some  one  else  should 
appear  and  catch  him  posing. 

No  one  greeted  us  in  San  Felipe,  as  we  drove 
past  the  old  Spanish  church  with  its  twin  towers 
and  neatly- walled  campo  santo  in  front;  for,  being 
harvest  time,  most  of  the  men  of  the  pueblo  were 
away  in  their  fields,  gathering  their  crops,  and  the 
streets  were  all  but  deserted.  There  was  a  mur 
mur  of  childish  voices  from  the  little  school  where 
the  tired,  anxious-faced  teacher  was  endeavouring 
to  drill  her  very  cheerful  little  charges  in  the 


72  SANDIA  TO  COCHITI 

rudiments  of  American  education;  and  there  was 
Rosario  Sanchez,  the  village  policeman,  walking 
importantly  about  the  pueblo,  peering  into  sus 
picious  corners  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  and 
rounding  up  such  truants  as  were  disposed  to  bolt 
the  paths  of  knowledge.  Now  and  then  a  girl 
passed  by  from  the  river,  with  her  water-jar 
dripping  on  her  head,  and  shyly  kept  in  the  shade 
as  much  as  possible,  so  that  any  designs  that  the 
stranger  might  have  upon  her  with  the  camera 
should  be  frustrated.  An  old  man  with  one  baby 
in  the  blanket  at  his  back  and  another  tagging 
alongside  crossed  the  sunny  plaza  singing  an 
Indian  song — doubtless  an  expression  of  the  joy 
in  his  heart,  but  doubtless  also  with  the  ulterior 
view  of  instructing  the  little  fellow  at  his  side  in 
some  traditional  melody  of  his  people.  In  the 
sunshine  before  one  of  the  houses,  a  shell-bead 
maker  was  rubbing  upon  a  whetstone  the  bits  of 
shell  which  he  had  broken  up  into  small  sizes  and 
which,  after  being  thus  ground  into  proper  shape, 
would  be  bored  and  made  suitable  for  stringing 
with  his  primitive  pump-drill  that  hung  by  the 
doorway.  On  some  of  the  housetops  women  were 
spreading  out  ears  of  corn  and  round,  fat  melons 


A  Pueblo  woman  bearing  water  home  from  the  well.     Open-air  ovens 
in  background. 


SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI  73 

to  dry  in  the  hot  sunshine,  and  upon  the  outer 
walls  of  almost  every  house  hung  brilliant  strings 
of  chili. 

"A  nice  pueblo,  this, "  I  said  to  a  man  who  came 
out  of  a  doorway. 

"Nice?"  he  replied,  puzzled.  "Nice?  Quien 
sabe  'nice*?" 

Then  I  said:  "Bueno  pueblo,"  and  he  said: 
"  Oh,  'bueno, '  si, "  and  laughed  as  though  it  were  a 
great  joke  that  "nice"  should  mean  "bueno. " 

It  was  all  a  quiet,  homelike  scene  and  the  people 
themselves  were  so  evidently  in  full  enjoyment  of 
life  that  the  sight  would  certainly  have  been  a 
surprise  to  some  concerned  philanthropists  three 
thousand  miles  off,  who  are  anxious  to  change  all 
aboriginal  ways  and  to  instil  into  the  Pueblo  mind 
the  principles  of  the  "higher  life,"  ignorant  or 
unobservant  of  the  fact  that  these  red  brethren  of 
ours  have  already  chosen  the  simple  path  of  a  wis 
dom  that  is  marked  with  pleasantness  and  peace. 

When  the  sun  was  straight  overhead,  marking 
high  noon,  I  looked  about  for  Juan  Pablo,  and 
found  him  comfortably  seated  in  one  of  the  houses 
upon  a  low  stool  and  partaking  of  a  hearty  lunch 
spread  upon  the  floor.  There  were  frijoles,  tor- 


74  SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI 

tillas,  a  fried  egg  or  two,  and  a  cup  of  black  coffee, 
while  in  the  three-cornered  fireplace,  there  were 
warming  more  frijoles  and  coffee  and  tortillas  of 
which  a  pleasant-faced  matron  smilingly  invited 
me  to  partake  without  charge.  From  the  rafters 
overhead  hung  a  score  of  watermelons,  each 
snugly  harnessed  in  strips  of  soap  weed,  tied  at  the 
bottom  into  a  neat  bow  like  a  necktie.  There 
they  would  hang  well  into  the  winter  and  would 
be  an  item  of  refreshment  in  the  wintry  menu  of 
dried  things. 

As  we  ate,  it  seemed  a  fitting  opportunity  to 
obtain  enlightenment  on  a  point  in  New  Mexico 
cookery  that  had  never  been  clear  in  my  mind,  so 
I  said  to  Juan  Pablo  as  he  dreamily  sipped  his 
black  coffee: 

"What  is  an  enchilada?" 

"It  is  something  you  make  of  bread  and  meat, 
chop'  up  with  chili,  and  all  cook'  together. " 

"Do  you  have  tamales  in  New  Mexico?"  I 
continued. 

"For  sure,"  he  replied  with  a  joyful  smile. 

"How  are  they  made?" 

"Well,  senor,  they  're  made  of  some  bread  and 
chop'  meat,  an'  chili  cook'  together." 


SANDIA  TO  COCHITI  75 

"In  California  we  have  tamales,"  I  said;  "but 
we  use  corn-meal — not  bread — and  wrap  all  up  in 
a  corn-husk  before  cooking.  You  don't  do  that 
with  your  tamales?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  wrap  all  that  in  the  corn-husk  and 
we  use  corn -meal,  too." 

"Then  how  about  the  enchilada?  Is  that 
wrapped  in  a  corn-husk?" 

"Si,  senor,  that  wrap'  in  the  corn-husk." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "what  is  the  difference,  then, 
between  the  enchilada  and  the  tamale?" 

"Well,  senor,  it  is  thees  way:  enchilada  and 
tamale  very  much  alike;  but  they  're  a  leetle 
different,  too,  senor. " 

Then  Juan  Pablo,  his  luncheon  finished,  took  a 
square  piece  of  corn-husk  from  his  pocket  and 
reflectively  scraped  a  little  tobacco  upon  it,  which, 
with  deft  fingers,  he  twirled  into  a  cigarrito. 

"Leetle  warm  weather  to-day,  senor,  no?"  he 
observed,  looking  through  the  doorway  into  the 
sun. 

Another  ten  miles  to  the  east,  built  upon  flat 
bottom  lands  of  the  Rio  Grande,  is  Santo  Do 
mingo.  Among  all  the  pueblos  this  is  the  only  one 
that  we  had  heard  spoken  of  as  showing  inhos- 


76  SANDIA  TO  COCHITI 

pitality  towards  white  visitors.  This  attitude,  so 
far  as  it  is  a  fact,  is  due  probably  to  the  deep- 
rooted  aversion  of  these  people  to  having  their 
pictures  taken,  and  picture- taking  is  a  white  man's 
habit.  Even  artists  with  the  brush,  whose  guile 
less  presence  in  freakish  clothing  beneath  white 
umbrellas  is  tolerated  and  even  enjoyed  in  other 
pueblos  because  of  their  aboriginal  love  of  colour — 
even  artists  have  been  denied  the  privilege  of 
painting  in  the  streets  of  Santo  Domingo  and  have 
been  summarily  escorted  without  the  walls.  As 
for  the  man  with  a  camera — he  is  a  very  child  of 
the  devil  to  these  primitive  folk,  and  if  he  attempts 
to  operate  his  infernal  machine  there,  he  is  apt  to 
have  it  smashed  and  himself  ejected.  Such  being 
Santo  Domingo's  views  upon  American  art,  Sylvia 
and  I  decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  bow  to  them ; 
so  paint-box  and  camera  were  left  behind  when  we 
drove  over  to  the  pueblo. 

Whether  or  not  our  manifestly  free  hands  and 
air  of  conscious  innocence  had  a  mollifying  in 
fluence,  I  cannot  say ;  but,  in  point  of  hospitality, 
we  certainly  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  It  was 
the  day  after  the  Feast  of  the  Dead,  which  is  a 
fiesta  in  all  Roman  Catholic  pueblos,  held  annually 


SANDIA  TO  COCHITI  77 

on  the  second  of  November;  and  in  every  home  we 
entered,  coffee,  meat,  and  bread  were  set  before 
us  and  we  were  expected,  for  the  nonce,  to  make 
that  home  ours.  At  one  house  a  watermelon  was 
presented  to  us  as  we  rose  to  go — and  water 
melons,  you  must  know,  are  among  the  choicest 
of  earth's  fruits  to  the  Indian,  not  to  be  lightly 
parted  with.1 

It  is  not  only  in  its  antagonism  to  cameras  and 
brushes  that  Santo  Domingo's  conservatism  is 
manifested.  The  encroachments  of  the  American 
school-teacher  are  even  more  distasteful,  though 
less  easily  dealt  with.  The  resistance  to  white 
education  had  led,  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  to  the 
abandonment  of  the  local  day-school  within  the 
pueblo;  but  the  result  of  this  has  merely  been 
the  transference  of  the  children  to  the  Govern 
ment's  big  boarding-school  at  Santa  Fe.  Much 
as  the  pueblo  authorities  deplore  this,  they  can- 

1  Frederick  Starr  in  his  delightful  volume  for  young  people, 
American  Indians,  notes  a  similar  cordi'ality  of  welcome  at  Santo 
Domingo.  "The  old  governor  of  the  pueblo,"  he  says,  "rode 
out  to  meet  us  and  learn  who  we  were  and  what  we  wanted.  On 
explaining  that  we  were  strangers  who  only  wished  to  see  the 
town,  we  were  taken  directly  to  his  house  on  the  town  square. 
His  old  wife  hastened  to  put  before  us  cakes  and  coffee.  After 
we  had  eaten,  we  were  given  full  permission  to  look  around. " 


78  SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI 

not  help  themselves,  for  the  arm  of  the  United 
States  Indian  Bureau  is  longer  than  the  longest 
in  Santo  Domingo. 

In  the  matter  of  dress,  too,  the  Santo  Domin- 
gans'  conservative  taste  is  manifested;  for  they 
still  cling  tenaciously  to  many  of  the  old  fashions 
which,  under  the  influence  of  contact  with  the 
whites,  are  fast  disappearing  from  most  of  the 
other  pueblos.  Especially  is  this  noticeable  in 
the  attire  of  the  women,  who  are  often  beautiful  of 
countenance,  and,  as  a  class,  are  finely  developed 
physically,  and  who  still  wear  the  quaint,  sleeve 
less  mania,  or  garment  of  one  piece,  which  leaves 
one  shoulder  bare  and  reaches  a  little  below  the 
knee.  The  fashion  is  precisely  what  Castaneda, 
writing  of  Coronado's  expedition  in  1540,  has 
recorded :  ' l  The  women  wear  blankets  which  they 
tie  or  knot  over  the  left  shoulder,  leaving  the  right 
arm  out." 

Another  feature  of  Santo  Domingo,  which  is  to 
be  credited  to  the  conservatism  of  its  guiding 
spirits,  is  the  sustained  Indian  quality  of  its 
ceremonial  dances.  August  4th  is  the  date  of  the 
principal  public  fiesta  of  the  year,  and  it  ranks  in 
beauty  and  in  general  interest  with  the  religious 


SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI  79 

ceremonies  of  Moqui,  Zufii,  and  Taos.  The  ac 
cessibility  of  Santo  Domingo  from  Santa  Fe  and 
Albuquerque  draws  to  this  fiesta  great  crowds  of 
Americans,  Mexicans,  and  Indians  of  various 
kinds,  who  make  a  scene  as  picturesque  in  its  way 
as  the  dance  itself. 

The  fourth  of  the  pueblos  with  which  this 
chapter  deals  is  Cochiti.  It  is  a  small  place  now, 
ten  miles  or  so  up  the  river  from  Santo  Domingo 
and  far  out  of  sight  from  the  railroad.  It  has 
become  so  much  Mexicanised  that  if  you  were  to 
drop  into  it  without  knowing  where  you  were,  you 
would  not  be  likely  to  take  it  for  a  pueblo  at  all, 
but,  rather,  for  an  ordinary  Mexican  town.  The 
houses,  one-story  structures,  are  scattered  about 
without  much  system,  and  very  close  to  the  en 
trance  of  the  pueblo  is  a  hideous  one  of  frame, 
painted  blue  with  a  red  roof — the  handiwork,  we 
were  told,  of  a  Carlisle  student.  Any  pueblo  that 
tolerates  within  it  a  house  like  that  is  condemned 
out  of  its  own  mouth. 

The  Cochiti  Indians,  what  is  left  of  them,  are 
very  hospitable  and  seem  disposed  to  let  the  wave 
of  Americanism  wash  over  and  engulf  them  without 
much  protest  on  their  part.  The  girls  and  women 


8o  SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI 

are  quite  as  likely  to  be  found  dressed  in  calico 
skirts  and  shirt-waists  as  in  their  native  costume 
and  have  abandoned  very  largely  the  beautiful 
tinajas  of  their  people  for  store  buckets  and  lard 
pails  in  which  they  lug  water  from  the  river,  by 
the  hand,  American- wise.  They  appear,  on  the 
whole,  rather  spiritless.  They  will  even  allow  you 
to  take  their  pictures  without  bargaining  and  are 
grateful  for  ten  cents,  if  you  care  to  give  it  to 
them,  for  the  privilege. 

But  even  in  Cochiti,  the  protest  against  Ameri 
canism  is  not  entirely  dead.  There  is  Santiago 
Quintana,  for  instance.  Santiago  is  a  mucho  rabio, 
who,  in  the  councils  of  his  people,  stands  vigor 
ously  for  the  old  order.  We  found  him  a  lively 
old  man,  in  flapping  trousers  and  buckskin  moc 
casins,  and  a  discontented  Mexican,  whom  we 
encountered  loitering  about  the  pueblo,  informed 
us  that  things  would  be  much  easier  for  outsiders 
when  Santiago  was  once  dead  and  buried ;  that  he 
was  a  stubborn  old  fool.  He  seemed  to  us,  how 
ever,  just  a  kindly  old  Pueblo,  who  loved  the 
ways  of  his  fathers  and  wanted  to  see  them  main 
tained  as  the  gods  of  Cochiti  had  directed.  His 
eyes  sparkled  when  we  told  him  that  we  were  from 


SAND  I  A  TO  COCHITI  81 

California,  and  he  plunged  vivaciously  into  an  ac 
count  of  a  trip  which,  as  a  young  man,  he  made 
thither  in  quest  of  the  great  water  where  the  shells 
are  cast  up,  which  every  true  Pueblo  prizes  as  the 
white  man  prizes  pearls.     He  travelled  all  the  way 
on  foot,  driving  a  pack  burro  before  him,  across 
deserts  and  over  mountains,  with  leisurely  stops 
by  the  way,  and  three  moons  had  waxed  and 
waned  by  the  time  he  caught  sight  of  the  Pacific. 
Old  as  he  was — he  looked  to  be  seventy — that 
marvellous  journey  was  to  him  as  if  it  had  ended 
but  yesterday.     He  was  as  familiar  with  the  names 
of  San  Bernardino,  Los  Angeles,  Santa  Barbara, 
and  San  Luis  Obispo  as  we  were;  and  of  the 
picturesque  old  pastoral  life  of  California,  which 
exists  now  only  in  books,  Santiago  knew  infinitely 
more  than  we  ever  shall,  for  he  was  for  two  years  a 
part  of  it.    As  he  could  stick  to  a  horse's  back  like  a 
Navajo,  he  found  occupation  as  vaguer o  on  some  of 
the  big  Spanish  ranches  which,  half  a  century  ago, 
were  still  untouched  by  the  real-estate  agent  and 
the  subdivider,  and  he  must  have  laid  by  money, 
for  his  return  was  not  afoot  but  on  horse-back.  • 

"And  Cochiti  looked  finer  to  you  than  ever 
when  you  got  back,  did  it  not?"  we  asked  senti- 


82  SANDIA  TO  COCHITI 

mentally.  " There's  no  place  equal  to  Cochiti, 
is  there?" 

"Yes,  there  is,"  he  answered  unexpectedly, 
"  California  much  better, — bonito  campo,  mucho 
trigotfrutot  sandia,  ah,  sandia!"  (beautiful  county, 
much  wheat,  fruit,  and  watermelons,  ah,  the 
watermelons!).  "But  here  in  Cochiti  are  all  my 
people,  my  cousins,  my  brothers,  my  friends, 
my  children — these  are  all  in  Cochiti — and  here 
my  fathers  lived ;  so  Santiago  Quintana  he  lives  in 
Cochiti." 

If  you  are  ever  at  Cochiti,  it  will  be  worth  your 
while  to  make  a  trip  into  the  magnificent  moun 
tain  region  north  of  the  pueblo  lands  where  numer 
ous  ancient  remains,  attesting  the  romantic  past 
of  the  Cochiti  community,  are  to  be  found — such 
as  the  sculptured  mountain  lions  of  the  Potrero  de 
las  Vacas,  the  rock  paintings  of  La  Cueva  Pintada, 
and  the  marvellous  ruins  of  the  Cave  City  on  the 
Rito  de  los  Frijoles. '  Perhaps  Santiago  will  guide 

1  This  region,  now  under  Governmental  care,  is  more  expedi- 
tiously  reached  by  automobile  from  Santa  Fe,  if  you  like  travelling 
to  ruins  by  such  conveyance.  The  Institute  of  Archaeology  of 
that  city  has  been  active  for  some  years  past  in  uncovering  and, 
to  some  degree,  restoring  the  remains  of  this  ancient  city  in 
the  Frijoles  Canon,  one  of  the  most  complete  and  interesting 
ruins  of  the  South- West. 


SAND  I  A   TO  COCHITI  83 

you,  or,  if  not,  Natividad  Arquero  or  another;  but 
go,  and  when  you  return  you  will  never  again  talk 
of  America's  lack  of  ancient  ruins  or  of  a  past  with 
out  human  interest.  This  region,  rich  beyond 
words  in  natural  beauty  and  in  archaeological 
interest,  was  first  made  known  to  the  world  by 
that  sterling  ethnologist,  Adolph  F.  Bandelier, 
who  made  Cochiti  his  home  for  years,  and  whose 
romance,  The  Delight  Makers,  embodies  in  the 
form  of  fiction  a  wealth  of  information  about 
Pueblo  Indians  and  their  ancestors  of  the  cliff 
dwellings. 


Chapter  VII 

Of  Certain  Pueblos  near  Santa  Fe 

THE  tourist  in  Santa  Fe  who  has  a  few  spare 
days  upon  his  hands  may  entertain  him 
self  very  pleasantly  by  hiring  a  team,  or  an 
automobile  if  he  prefers  it,  and  visiting  the  half 
dozen  Indian  pueblos  which  are  within  easy  reach 
of  New  Mexico's  ancient  capital. 

Nearest  is  Tesuque,  of  which  some  mention  has 
already  been  made,  but  which  will  increase  in 
interest  with  acquaintance.  It  is  an  unobserving 
traveller  who  does  not  see  something  new  upon 
each  succeeding  visit  to  an  Indian  town;  for  the 
Pueblo  does  not  wear  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve  and 
by  no  means  shows  at  first  meeting  all  that  he  is. 

The  proximity  of  Tesuque  to  Santa  Fe — nine 
miles — has  not  been  altogether  good  for  Tesuque. 
The  constant  contact  with  traders  and  tourists 
has  developed  a  decidedly  commercial  quality  in 
this  people,  and  they  are  paying  much  more  at- 

84 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE          85 

tention  to  the  manufacture  of  indifferent  curios 
for  an  undiscriminating  tourist  trade  than  to  any 
serious  prosecution  of  their  native  arts.  Neverthe 
less,  it  is  interesting  to  watch  the  moulding  of  such 
things  as  the  imitation  American  pipes  and  tipsy 
vases,  wobbly  match-trays,  and  those  hideous 
monstrosities,  the  rain  gods,  which  are  in  every 
curio  store  in  the  South-West;  and  to  see  the 
returned  scholars  labouring  at  the  bead-work 
which  has  been  taught  them  in  the  Government 
school  as  a  suitable  and  remunerative  vocation 
for  Pueblo  artists.  Such  occupations  are  carried 
on  in  the  common  living-room  of  the  family,  while 
the  hum  of  the  metate  fills  the  house  with  its  dull 
monotone,  and  the  slumbering  baby,  strapped 
securely  on  his  padded  board  cradle,  suspended  by 
thongs  from  rafters  in  the  ceiling,  swings  slowly 
back  and  forth. 

At  Tesuque,  more  than  at  any  other  pueblo,  we 
found  our  presence  mainly  tolerable  in  proportion 
to  our  willingness  to  spend  money,  and  we  got 
more  than  one  ugly  look  when  we  declined  to  pay 
two  prices  for  the  indifferent  wares  that  were 
plentifully  set  before  us.  Yet  it  was  not  so  at  all 
houses — in  many  we  found  still  the  simple,  uncal- 


86          PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

culating  hospitality  of  the  unspoiled  Indian,  as  at 
the  home  of  Juanita  Chinana.  Her  kind  eyes 
took  note  of  us  as  we  sat  at  luncheon  on  a  log  in 
the  shade  of  her  man's  corral,  and  she  brought 
from  her  house  two  chairs  for  us  to  sit  on,  while 
her  son  pulled  down  a  flake  of  alfalfa  for  our 
Dobbin.  He  looked  surprised  at  the  silver  coin 
which  we  tendered  him — he  was  still  too  unso 
phisticated  to  expect  payment  for  ministering  to 
the  wants  of  the  stranger — even  though  uninvited 
— within  the  gates. 

The  date  of  Tesuque's  annual  public  fiesta, 
November  I2th,  is  one  of  Santa  Fe's  gala  days,  and 
the  road  thence  to  the  pueblo  is  crowded  that 
morning  with  carriages,  farm  waggons,  bicycles, 
horses,  and  automobiles,  carrying  visitors  to  the 
festivities.  The  character  of  this  Indian  dance 
differs  in  different  years,  but  is  always  interesting, 
and,  with  the  preceding  mass  and  church  proces 
sion,  consumes  the  greater  part  of  a  day.  Sitting 
on  a  housetop  looking  down  on  the  great  plaza  at 
the  dancers  in  their  beautiful,  barbaric  costumes 
and  kaleidoscopic  colour,  and  on  the  encircling 
spectators,  most  of  whom  are  Mexicans  in  more  or 
less  gay  attire,  we  seem  to  be  looking  at  a  foreign 


A  Tesuque  mother  and  baby.     The  child  is  asleep  in  the  cradle 
swinging  by  cords  from  beams  in  the  ceiling. 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA   FE          87 

scene,  so  unlike  is  it  to  what  we  associate  with  our 
United  States.  The  intoxication  at  Tesuque  on 
these  occasions  is  often  a  distressing  concomitant 
of  the  novel  beauty  of  the  ceremonies,  and  at  the 
time  of  our  last  visit,  many  of  the  Indian  spectators 
were  maudlin  drunk  before  noon.  The  dancers 
themselves,  however,  were  entirely  sober  and 
seemingly  suitably  impressed  with  the  solemnity 
of  the  religious  rite  in  which  they  were  engaged; 
but  it  seems  the  debauch  with  them  was  simply 
postponed.  When  the  shadows  drew  long  across 
the  plaza,  and  the  dancers  finally  disappeared  into 
their  ceremonial  chamber,  we  asked  an  Indian 
standing  near  us  if  there  was  anything  more  to 
come. 

"No,"  he  replied  ingenuously,  "nothing  more 
now  except  to  get  drunk. " 

About  ten  miles  from  Tesuque,  beneath  the 
shoulder  of  the  snow-capped -Santa  Fe  "Baldy, " 
is  nestled  the  pretty  little  pueblo  of  Nambe.  Time 
was  when  there  was  a  good  deal  doing  at  Nambe, 
which,  like  Sandia,  had  an  evil  reputation  in  the 
matter  of  witches;  but  those  strenuous  days  are 
now  past  and  the  little  place  is  very  much  Mexi- 
canised  and  down  at  the  heel,  and  its  atmosphere 


88  PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

is  rather  melancholy.  Nevertheless,  the  old  Pueblo 
spirit  is  still  there  and  on  their  annual  fiesta, 
which  takes  place  on  October  4th,  they  render  their 
public  dance  with  a  half  dozen  participants,  just 
as  joyously  as  though  there  were  as  many  hundred. 

The  country  all  about  this  pueblo  is  thickly 
settled  by  Mexicans  whose  lands  are  close  up  to 
the  pueblo  walls,  and  it  will  probably  not  be  long 
before  Nambe  will  become  as  thoroughly  swallowed 
up  by  these  neighbours  of  Spanish  blood  as  the 
extinct  pueblo  of  Pojuaque, l  five  miles  farther 
down  the  Nambe  River.  Pojuaque,  when  its 
population  had  dwindled  to  ten,  decided  to  quit ; 
and  two  or  three  years  ago,  the  little  remnant 
moved  to  Nambe,  and  now  the  looker-on  in 
Pojuaque  sees  nothing  to  indicate  that  it  ever  was 
an  Indian  pueblo. 

If  you  are  travelling  by  carriage — and  that  is 
the  ideal  plan  of  travel  among  the  pueblos — you 
will  find  Pojuaque  a  convenient  stopping-place  for 
the  night;  and  if  you  do  stop  there,  you  might  do 
worse  than  lodge  at  Senora  Bouquet's,  whose  long, 
rambling  establishment,  part  residence,  part  store, 
and  part  stable,  is  set  there  by  the  road.  The 

1  Pronounced  Po-hwa'ka. 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE          89 

Senora  is  the  Spanish  widow  of  a  French  husband 
— "Old  Man"  Bouquet  of  fragrant  memory.  You 
will  remember  him  if  you  have  ever  read  Thomas 
A.  Janvier's  story,  Santa  Fes  Partner.  There  is  a 
famous  well,  embowered  like  a  shrine  among  trees, 
just  across  the  road  from  the  house,  and  you  must 
compliment  the  Senora  upon  the  deliciousness  of 
its  waters;  for  there  is  no  finer  in  New  Mexico. 
You  will  enjoy  a  stroll  through  her  garden  of  fruit 
trees,  too — a  thousand  of  them,  she  will  tell  you, 
which  she  herself  planted  with  her  own  hands 
when  she  came  to  Pojuaque,  a  bride — ah,  how 
many  years  ago,  quien  sabe? — and  now  many  are 
grown  so  big  she  cannot  put  her  arm  around 
them. 

From  Pojuaque  a  few  miles  through  a  lonely, 
sun-scorched  plain,  un tilled  and  untillable,  gashed 
and  ditched  by  a  thousand  dry  arroyos  and  bar 
rancas,  and  you  come  again  to  the  Rio  Grande 
and  the  pueblo  of  San  Ildefonso,  with  its  liberal 
plaza,  an  ancient  cot  ton  wood  in  the  midst.  The  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  pueblo  has  suffered  in  the  last 
year  or  two  by  the  erection  of  a  barn-like  Roman 
Catholic  edifice  within  it,  replacing  the  historic 
church  of  adobe,  which,  dating  from  the  time  of  the 


9o  PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

early  Spaniards,  had  become  unsafe.1  Looking 
down  upon  the  pueblo  is  a  huge,  flat-topped  moun 
tain  of  black  lava — the  Mesa  Huerfana,  as  the 
Mexicans  call  it,  that  is,  "The  Orphan."  Upon 
its  summit  San  Ildefonso  sought  refuge  when, 
after  the  bloody  Pueblo  uprising  in  1680,  the 
avenging  army  of  De  Vargas  appeared  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Rio  Grande.  The  siege  of  the 
Black  Mesa  lasted  nine  months  off  and  on,  accord 
ing  to  Lummis,  the  beleaguered  Indians  resisting 
four  assaults  upon  their  Gibraltar-like  fortress; 
but  Spaniards,  in  those  days,  were  of  a  mettle 
hard  to  conquer  and  the  San  Ildefonsans  were 
finally  brought  to  knee.  They  had  gone  up  free 
men  of  the  plain,  but  they  came  down  vassals  of 
the  Spanish  King.  The  San  Ildefonso  which  we 
know  to-day,  at  the  foot  of  that  black  mount  of 
humiliation,  is  not  the  original  pueblo;  that  stood 
across  the  river. 

As  at  Nambe,  the  Mexican  invasion  of  San 
Ildefonso  has  begun  and  is,  little  by  little,  en 
croaching  upon  the  distinctive  Pueblo  features  of 

1  In  that  ancient  church,  it  is  stated  by  Bandelier,  Jean  rArche"- 
veque,  who  betrayed  the  French  explorer  La  Salle  to  his  death, 
was  married  in  1719  to  a  Spanish  lady. 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE          91 

the  place.  The  Indians  are  very  hospitably  dis 
posed  to  white  visitors,  kindly  and  good-humoured, 
and  our  memory  of  their  home  by  the  great  river 
is  full  of  the  joyous  laughter  of  children,  which 
even  the  dull  tasks  of  the  Government  day  school 
at  the  town's  edge  have  not  quenched. 

"Yes,"  sighed  the  schoolmistress  in  charge  at 
the  time  of  one  of  our  visits — an  elderly  New  Eng- 
landish  spinster  upon  whom  the  responsibility  of 
her  lively  pupils  lay  very  heavy — "that's  one 
trouble  with  them — they  are  too  happy.  If  they 
only  realised  their  real  condition  in  life,  there  would 
be  some  hope  of  their  improving. " 

Eight  miles  up  the  river  from  San  Ildefonso  is 
the  Americo-Mexican  village  of  Espanola,  where 
you  may  put  up  your  tired  team  and  rent  a  room 
from  Shorty.  Shorty,  the  Boniface  of  Espanola, 
is  a  spectacled  gentleman  of  middle  age  and  five 
feet  three,  stouter  than  is  safe  to  be,  red-visaged, 
and  during  our  acquaintance  with  him,  never 
known  to  be  separated  from  a  half-chewed  cigar 
gripped  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  He  keeps  a 
saloon  for  the  bibulous,  while  "  Mamma"  ministers 
to  the  pangs  of  the  hungry  by  running  in  the  rear 
of  the  premises  a  dining-room  of  an  excellence  far 


92  PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

above  what  the  surroundings  would  lead  one  to 
expect.  Here  at  Espanola  you  are  within  easy 
reach  of  the  wonderful  cliff  of  Puye,  with  its 
ancient  cavate  dwellings  and  its  buried  pueblo; 
and  you  are  not  far  from  Chamita,  the  site  of  the 
first  Spanish  settlement  in  all  New  Mexico;  nor 
from  Abiquiu  of  the  Penitentes;  nor  from  Sanc- 
tuario,  famous  for  miracles.  Near  at  hand,  too, 
are  the  Indian  pueblos  of  Santa  Clara  and  San 
Juan,  as  well  as  San  Ildefonso,  which  has  just 
been  mentioned. 

Santa  Clara,  indeed,  is  within  after-supper 
walking  distance,  and  there  is  no  pleasanter  time 
of  day  than  day's  close  to  visit  the  place.  The 
pueblo  is  on  a  sandy  dune,  a  mile  or  two  south  of 
Espanola,  overlooking  the  Rio  Grande,  which 
here  winds  its  muddy  course  through  sunny,  green 
bottom  lands  before  disappearing  around  the 
Black  Mesa  of  San  Ildefonso,  to  be  swallowed  up 
in  the  wild  gorge  of  the  Pena  Blanca  Canon  above 
Cochiti.  Beyond  the  river,  the  jagged  peaks  of 
the  Sangre  de  Cristo  Sierra  lift  themselves  against 
the  sky— the  Truchas,  the  Santa  Fe  "Baldy, "  and 
the  cratered  Peak  of  the  Lakes,  exceeding  12,000 
feet  and  often  snow-clad  even  in  summer.  Bande- 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE          93 

Her,  in  one  of  his  New  Mexico  papers,  vividly 
describes  the  beauty  of  this  scene. 

If  one  stands  in  the  evening  [he  writes],  when  the 
sun  is  setting  and  the  shadows  are  already  cast  over 
the  valleys,  on  the  swell  above  the  church  of  Santa 
Clara,  he  will  see  the  snow-peaks  glowing  for  a  little 
while  in  fiery  red.  The  crags  of  the  Truchas  blaze 
like  flowing  ore.  An  Alpine  lustre  is  displayed,  less 
soft  in  colours  than  that  of  the  central  mountains  of 
Europe,  but  much  more  intense  and  longer  lasting. 
The  mountains  stand  out  ghostly  pale  as  soon  as  the 
last  glow  is  extinguished,  and  a  white  shroud  appears 
to  rest  upon  the  landscape. 

One  is  not  long  in  Santa  Clara  before  noticing 
that  many  of  these  Indians  are  taller  and  more 
slender  in  build  than  the  short,  stocky  Pueblos  of 
the  south.  Their  hair,  too,  is  worn  differently, 
being  parted  in  the  middle  and  braided  at  the 
sides.  This  difference  in  look  has  been  attributed 
to  a  probable  mixture  in  past  times  with  their 
nomadic  neighbours,  the  Utes,  the  Apaches,  and 
the  Navajos. 

The  Santa  Clara  women  have  made  a  substantial 
reputation  for  themselves  as  makers  of  a  peculiar, 
shiny  black  pottery,  the  best  of  it  very  beautifully 
fashioned;  for,  being  without  decoration,  its  at- 


94  PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

tractiveness  must  necessarily  depend  largely  upon 
form.  The  clay  of  the  region  naturally  burns 
red,  but  the  potters  long  ago  found  that,  by 
smudging  the  fire  at  a  certain  stage  in  the  opera 
tion,  the  black  smoke  is  absorbed  by  the  clay  and 
results  in  a  permanent  black.  Our  interest  in 
pottery  at  the  time  of  our  first  visit  to  Santa  Clara 
several  years  ago  developed  an  unexpected  evi 
dence  of  the  innate  honesty  of  the  old  type  of 
Pueblo  nature.  We  had  bought  some  specimens 
of  black  ware  from  old  Piedad,  and  noticing  on  a 
shelf  some  newly  moulded  forms,  still  unburned 
and  showing  the  reddish  nature  of  the  raw  material, 
we  offered  to  buy  one.  She  shook  her  head  vigor 
ously,  and  when  we  persisted  in  wanting  it,  she 
turned  her  distressed  old  face  towards  a  young 
man  whose  short  hair,  indifferent  manner,  and 
recumbent  attitude  betokened  the  Government 
scholar,  and  said  something  to  him  in  the  native 
tongue.  Interpreted,  it  meant  that  he  should  tell 
us  that  such  ware  would  not  hold  water  and  it  was 
not  right  to  sell  pottery  until  fired;  for  it  would 
melt  away  and  what  then  would  we  have  for  our 
money?  It  was  only  after  she  was  made  to  under 
stand  clearly  that  we  knew  this  and  would  not 


.  • 


San  Juan  woman  in  her  doorway.     Note  the  boot-like 
moccasins,  worn  in  certain  pueblos. 


PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE          95 

subject  the  pottery  in  any  way  to  the  action  of 
water,  that  she  consented,  though  still  reluctantly, 
to  let  us  bear  away  a  piece. 

San  Juan,  also  on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande, 
but  north  of  Espanola  eight  miles,  was  the  town 
that  gave  to  the  Pueblos  their  most  famous  leader, 
Pope.  He  was  the  organiser  of  that  one  unani 
mous  and,  therefore,  successful  revolt  of  the 
Pueblos  against  Spanish  rule,  which  occurred  in 
1680  and  resulted  in  their  killing  or  driving  every 
Spaniard  from  the  Pueblo  country,  and  keeping 
them  out  for  twelve  years.  San  Juan  is  in  the 
midst  of  a  rather  populous  Mexican  community, 
as  populosity  goes  in  New  Mexico,  and  a  well- 
travelled  public  highway  runs  through  the  pueblo 
lands.  On  it  John  Barleycorn  travels  all  too 
frequently  and  San  Juan's  morals,  as  well  as 
Santa  Clara's,  are  not  bettered  by  the  fact,  if  the 
school-teacher's  gloomy  report  to  us  as  to  the 
prevalence  of  inebriety  there  is  correct.  The  day 
we  spent  at  San  Juan,  however,  every  one  was 
sober  and  reasonably  happy.  Old  men  sat  in  the 
sun  at  their  doors,  mending  tattered  moccasins, 
and,  now  and  then,  one  reminiscently  sang  a  scrap 
of  song  as  he  sewed ;  women  busily  came  and  went, 


96          PUEBLOS  NEAR  SANTA  FE 

preparing  the  street  ovens  for  the  wheat-bread 
baking;  and  pleasant-faced  girls  with  glistening 
black  Una j as  of  water  on  their  heads,  as  at  Santa 
Clara,  the  gourd  dippers  clinking  against  the 
rims,  filed  in  from  the  well.  Farm  waggons 
loaded  with  corn  or  with  wood,  and  now  and  then 
a  slaughtered  sheep  on  top,  creaked  in  from  the 
country,  and  children  played  about  everywhere. 
It  may  have  been  here  that  one  toddler  stumbled 
over  a  log  and,  hurting  itself,  fell  to  crying.  A 
returned  student,  who  had  been  sullenly  sitting 
in  the  shade  watching  us,  jumped  to  his  feet  with 
every  sense  alert,  and  gathering  up  the  little  fellow, 
soothed  it  as  a  woman  would. 

"  If  the  Pueblos  are  ever  to  be  saved  as  Pueblos, " 
murmured  Sylvia,  "it  will  be  a  little  child  that 
will  keep  them." 


Chapter  VIII 

Of  Taos  and  tKe  Way  THitKer. 

THOUGH  you  are  a  native-born  American 
and  though  you  may  have  travelled  from 
Maine  to  Florida  and  from  New  York  to 
California,  and  though  you  may  have  encircled 
the  entire  globe  a  time  or  two,  I  wonder  if  you  have 
ever  heard  of  the  Taos1  country.     The  chances 
are  that  you  have  not;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most 
delightful  regions  of  our  delightful  country. 

Not  the  least  interesting  part  of  a  visit  to  Taos, 
lapped  in  the  heart  of  the  Southern  Rockies,  one 
hundred  miles  north  of  Santa  Fe,  is  the  getting 
there.  The  nearest  railroad  is  the  Denver  &  Rio 
Grande's  Santa  Fe  branch,  which  binds  Colorado's 
capital  to  New  Mexico's.  You  leave  this  line  at  a 
choice  of  stations,  Servilleta  being  as  good  as  any, 
having  first  written  or  telegraphed  the  livery  at 
Taos  to  meet  you  with  a  team;  for  the  little  way- 
1  Pronounced  Towss. 

9  97 


98  TAOS  PUEBLO 

station  in  the  wilderness  has  no  accommodations  for 
travellers.  A  drive  of  thirty  glorious  miles  is  now 
before  you,  across  a  sunny,  open  mesa  country, 
rimmed  about  with  magnificent  mountains,  which 
the  declining  sun  touches  with  fascinating  colours 
—pink  and  red  and  wine,  amethyst  and  violet  and 
purple.  Half-way  on  your  journey  and  without 
warning,  the  highway  runs  out  to  the  brink  of  a 
narrow,  precipitous  gorge,  and  six  hundred  feet 
below  you,  the  current  of  the  Rio  Grande  plunges 
and  roars.  Down  it,  into  the  depths,  your  team 
picks  its  way  gingerly  by  a  road  cut  out  of  the 
perpendicular  canon  sides  to  meet  the  river  and  to 
cross  it.  There  is  a  little  riverside  stopping-place 
down  there  where  you  may  break  your  journey,  if 
you  wish;  then,  climbing  out  of  the  gorge  by  the 
canon  of  the  Arroyo  Hondo,  where  a  hurrying 
stream  of  clear  mountain  water  flashes  and  bounds 
down  among  rocks,  you  are  again  upon  the  wide 
plain.  Before  you  is  the  ineffable  splendour  of  the 
Rockies,  their  sides  all  splashed,  if  it  be  autumn, 
with  the  orange  and  gold  of  the  aspen  groves,  and 
yonder,  at  the  mountains'  foot  where  one  canon, 
the  Glorieta,  more  noble  than  the  rest,  pours  a 
flood  of  crystal  water  out  into  the  plain,  lies  Taos. 


TAOS  PUEBLO  99 

Speaking  of  Taos  one  must  discriminate;  for 
there  are  three  of  it.  First  in  point  of  size,  there 
is  Fernandez  de  Taos,  a  Mexican  village  with  its 
adobe  houses  and  gardens  half -hidden  behind  adobe 
walls,  its  picturesque  lanes  and  its  shady  plaza,  its 
shops  with  their  signs  in  Spanish  and  its  Spanish 
newspaper,  its  memories  of  Kit  Carson,  and  its 
summer  colony  of  Eastern  artists,  who  find  the 
place  as  foreign  of  atmosphere  as  Egypt  is;  then 
there  is  Ranches  de  Taos,  into  which  the  first 
village  merges  in  one  direction;  and,  lastly,  there 
is  Taos  pueblo,  which  lies  a  couple  of  miles  beyond 
the  village  in  another.  Of  the  three,  the  oldest  is 
the  pueblo,  the  most  northern  of  all  pueblos  and, 
in  old  times,  the  most  exposed  to  harassment  from 
the  Comanches  and  other  predatory  tribes  of  the 
buffalo  plains.  So  hard,  indeed,  did  those  savages 
press  the  Taos  Pueblos,  some  after  scalps  and  some 
after  horses,  that  the  Taos  people,  to  save  them 
selves  from  extermination,  offered  grants  of  their 
fertile  and  well- watered  lands  to  Mexican  immi 
grants  to  help  keep  the  marauders  in  check.  So 
the  Mexican  settlements  came  to  be  and  Taos 
pueblo  remains  on  the  map. 

The  last  mile  of  the  road  to  the  pueblo  is  a  shady 


ioo  TAOS  PUEBLO 

lane  banked  high  with  wild  roses,  wild  plum  trees, 
and  clambering  clematis.  Off  to  one  side  a  line  of 
willows  marks  the  course  of  a  stream,  and  out 
of  the  tangle  of  bushy  growths  comes  the  music  of 
hidden  waters  rippling  over  stones.  Openings, 
here  and  there  in  the  wild  hedge,  reveal  little  fields 
of  wheat  and  tasselled  corn,  fringed  about  with 
masses  of  purple  asters,  yellow  sunflowers,  and 
bigelovia,  and  here  groups  of  bareheaded  Taos 
Indian  men  are  at  work,  their  blankets  wrapped 
about  their  waists  and  falling  to  their  knees, 
resembling  skirts.  This  sort  of  attiring,  combined 
with  a  fashion  of  wearing  the  hair  parted  in  the 
middle,  the  divisions  braided  and  hanging  down  in 
long  side-locks  in  front  of  each  shoulder,  gives  the 
men  a  remarkably  feminine  look.  They  are  a 
tall,  athletic-looking  lot,  as  a  class,  however,  and 
thoroughly  masculine,  though  the  Pueblo  gentle 
ness  shows  in  their  faces. 

All  this  while  we  see  nothing  of  any  Indian 
village,  but  now  a  turn  in  the  road  brings  us  into 
the  open  and  there,  ahead  of  us,  through  trees,  we 
catch  sight  of  some  outdoor  threshing  floors 
where  horses,  driven  around  and  around  by 
Indians,  are  treading  out  the  grain,  like  the  un- 


TAOS  PUEBLO  .-'    A  .    .  ,.ipj. 

muzzled  oxen  of  Scripture,  and  beyond  rise  the 
two  great  pyramids  that  constitute  Taos  pueblo. 
Between  them  flows  a  broad,  never-failing  stream, 
issuing  in  transparent  purity  out  of  the  Glorieta 
Canon  at  the  pueblo's  back.  It  is  a  poetic  situa 
tion,  and  in  the  morning,  when  the  smoke  of  a 
hundred  hearth-fires  rises  into  the  crisp  air,  or  at 
evening,  when  the  mountains  that  look  protect- 
ingly  down  on  the  peaceful  village  glow  in  the 
sunset  like  altars  alight,  the  sight  is  an  unforget 
table  one.  To  the  scientifically  inclined,  Taos  is 
fascinating  as  an  architectural  study,  being,  among 
contemporary  pueblos,  the  most  perfect  specimen 
of  the  terraced  style  of  house-building,  the  stories 
of  one  pyramid  numbering  five  and  of  the  other 
seven.  These  structures  are,  indeed,  not  com 
munal  residences  in  the  sense  of  their  being  common 
to  all,  but  rather  are  aboriginal  apartment  houses. 
Each  family  has  its  suite  of  two  or  three  rooms 
opening  out  on  its  terrace,  and  maintains  its  own 
individual  privacy  of  life,  as  though  living  in  a 
separate  structure. 

The  governing  powers  in  Taos  have  very  old- 
fashioned  views  as  to  conduct,  and  it  is  law  here 
that  all  the  men,  whatever  they  may  do  when 


102  TAOS  PUEBLO 

working  outside,  shall,  within  the  pueblo,  go  with 
out  hats  and  shall  enter  no  house  without  their 
blankets  on.  Perhaps  it  is  this  edict  which  has 
given  rise  to  the  prevalent  fashion  among  men  in 
summer  weather  of  wrapping  themselves  in  white 
sheets ;  for  woollen  blankets  would  at  that  season  be 
uncomfortably  warm  during  the  daytime.  White, 
however,  is  a  favourite  among  colours  and  blankets 
of  white  flannel  or  wool  are  cherished  possessions. 
In  its  way,  Taos  is  quite  progressive.  The  hum 
of  the  sewing-machine  is  heard  from  many  an  open 
door.  McCormick  harvesters  reap  the  wheat  that, 
not  long  ago,  was  pulled  by  hand.  Studebaker 
waggons  and  sturdy  horses  have  largely  supplanted 
the  burro,  and  the  postmaster  at  Fernandez  de 
Taos  will  tell  you  that  Taos  pueblo  trades  by 
mail  with  the  Cheyennes  and  Utes  beyond  the 
mountains.  Yet,  when  Pablito  Antonito  went  a 
step  farther  in  progressiveness  and,  as  an  American 
citizen,  appealed  to  the  county  court  for  redress 
in  a  dispute  with  a  fellow  Indian  of  Taos,  he 
became  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  the  pueblo  for 
carrying  his  quarrel  outside.  So,  too,  when  Mar- 
quitos  and  Felipa,  fresh  returned  from  Carlisle— 
or  it  may  have  been  Grand  Junction  or  Riverside, 


•7. 


TAOS  PUEBLO  103 

— married  and  put  a  big  American  window,  sash 
and  all,  in  their  front  room,  public  sentiment  made 
matters  so  warm  for  them  that  they  had  to  remove 
it  and  restore  the  little  old  peep-hole  which 
conservative  Taos  believes  in.  You  may  see  the 
very  window  yet,  where  the  walling-up  of  the 
enlargement  is  still  plain.  There  is  progress  and 
progress. 

While  no  Pueblo  Indians,  as  a  tribe,  have  ever 
been  at  war  with  the  United  States,  Taos  has  the 
distinction  of  having  been  pretty  close  to  it.  There 
has  always  been  a  certain  masterful  quality  in  the 
make-up  of  the  Taos  Indians,  which  has  made 
them  prone  to  be  on  hand  when  a  fight  was  in 
progress.  Pope  of  San  Juan,  who  headed  the  red 
rebellion  of  1680,  was  a  resident  of  Taos  for  some 
time  before  he  launched  the  trouble,  and  undoubt 
edly  had  strong  counselling  there.  In  the  turbu 
lent  decade  or  two  prior  to  the  Mexican  War  and 
the  gathering  of  New  Mexico  into  the  fold  of  the 
United  States,  the  co-operation  of  Taos  Indians 
was  often  asked  and  obtained  by  the  New  Mexi 
cans  in  the  carrying  out  of  their  plots.  One  of  the 
New  Mexico  governors,  under  the  pre- American 
regime,  was  a  Taos  man,  Jose  Gonzalez  (1837-8), 


io4  TAOS  PUEBLO 

and  the  first  American  governor,  Bent,  was 
murdered  in  cold  blood  as  the  result  of  a  conspiracy 
of  revolutionary  Mexicans,  aided  by  Taos  Indians. 
Mute  testimony  to  the  avenging  of  this  atrocity 
is  the  ruin  of  the  old  Catholic  church  in  Taos, 
battered  down  in  the  attack  on  the  pueblo  by 
American  troops  seeking  the  murderers.  All  this 
Taos  obstreperousness,  however,  was  individual 
work.  It  is  so  contrary  to  what  we  know  of  the 
Pueblo  mildness  of  character  when  even  half- 
decently  treated  that  one  is  inclined  to  believe  that, 
at  Taos,  as  at  Santa  Clara,  there  has  been  some 
admixture  of  Plains  Indian  blood,  Comanche  or 
Apache,  and  that  it  crops  out  now  and  again  in  the 
love  of  a  fight. 


Chapter  IX 

Of  the  Fiesta  of  San  Geronimo  at  Taos,  and  the 
Delight  Makers. 

""IT      7  ANT  to  buy  some  greps,  senora,  no  ?  " 
\  /\  /       "' uena  sandia,  treinte  centavos!" 

?Y         "  Duraznos,  mucho  barato  I11 
"  Compra  melones,  compadre?    Melones  mitcho 
'uenos!" 

You  might  think  it  market  day  in  some  town 
of  Old  Mexico,  but  you  are  still  under  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  and  it  is  only  the  Fiesta  of 
San  Geronimo  at  Taos.  The  edges  of  the  great 
plaza  in  front  of  the  north  pueblo  are  jammed  with 
waggons,  loaded  with  grapes,  apples,  peaches, 
melons,  Indian  pottery,  and  blankets,  the  virtues 
of  which  are  set  forth  in  Spanish  or  crippled  Eng 
lish,  according  to  the  nationality  of  inquiring 
buyers.  Between  the  waggons  and  the  grand 
promenade  before  the  houses  is  a  line  of  gaudily 
decorated  booths  of  lemonade-  and  sweetmeat- 

105 


io6  THE  FIESTA  AT  TAOS 

vjendors  and  of  fakirs  of  various  sorts  of  catch 
penny  trinkets.  It  is  only  nine  in  the  morning, 
yet,  outside,  the  terraced  houses  are  lined  from 
base  to  apex  with  crowds  of  spectators,  waiting 
for  the  ceremonies  that  are  to  come  off — no  one 
knows  just  when,  but  "poco  tiempo",  and  mean 
time  is  not  the  sunshine  pleasant  to  the  soul,  and 
the  moving  picture  of  the  foreign-looking  crowd 
entertainment  enough?  Every  moment  brings 
new  arrivals,  ahorseback  and  afoot,  in  farm 
waggons  and  in  buggies.  Though  Americans  are 
the  dominant  race  in  the  land  there  is  but  a 
sprinkling  of  them  in  the  vast  throng,  but  gathered 
from  a  wide  radius — ranchers,  school-teachers, 
store-keepers,  invalids,  an  artist  or  two,  seeking 
diversion  in  this  half-barbaric  fiesta  as  city  folk 
visit  a  play.  Mexicans  are  most  in  evidence,  the 
elderly  men  and  women  in  sober  black,  the  girls  in 
bright-hued  silks  and  calicos,  the  fit  of  which  cuts 
little  figure,  the  colour  being  the  thing;  and  the 
Pueblo  women  are  only  a  shade  less  gay  in  their 
showy  upper  garments  and  silver  necklaces.  Taos 
men,  blanketed  or  sheeted  to  the  eyes,  stalk  about 
in  the  crowd  or  stand  watching  the  photograph 
man,  with  his  little  nickel  cannon,  make  retratos 


THE  FIESTA  AT  TAOS  107 

of  foolish  Mexicanos  and  Mexicanas  in  their  gala 
finery.  Here  is  a  Pueblo  family  from  Picuris,  the 
man's  unhatted  head  picturesquely  crowned  with  a 
chaplet  of  quivering  aspen  leaves;  here  is  another 
from  far  San  Ildefonso,  with  a  load  of  pottery  jars 
to  sell ;  there  are  a  couple  of  phlegmatic  Apaches  in 
sombreros  with  long  feathers  stuck  in  the  band,  and 
in  their  ears  silver  earrings  set  with  turquoise, 
their  hands  holding  beaded  belts  and  beaded 
moccasins  for  whoever  will  to  buy ;  and  over  yonder 
is  an  alert-eyed  Navajo,  carrying  upon  his  arm 
blankets  which,  however  much  he  may  asseverate 
that  they  are  his  squaw's  own  weaving,  have 
probably  been  entrusted  to  him  by  some  crafty 
white  trader  to  sell  to  the  gullible  tourist  at  two  or 
three  prices. 

All  this  while  the  church  bell  is  clanging  at 
intervals,  and  worshippers  in  relays  crowd  into  the 
church  and  crowd  out  again ;  but  it  is  not  so  much 
this  as  the  aboriginal  features  of  the  fiesta  that 
interest  the  lookers-on  from  the  housetops.  These 
features  are  threefold :  There  is  a  short  dance  of 
blanketed  Indian  men  bearing  upright  branches 
of  quivering  aspen,  facing  each  other  in  two  lines 
and  yelping  from  time  to  time  like  coyotes.  Then 


io8  THE  FIESTA  AT  TAOS 

there  is  a  hotly  contested  foot-race  between  the 
young  men  of  the  two  pyramids,  the  participants 
naked,  except  for  a  kilt  of  some  kind  about  the 
loins,  and  with  feathers — emblems  of  flight — in 
the  hair,  down  the  arms,  and  encircling  the  ankles. 
Finally  there  are  the  antics  of  a  group  of  clowns, 
chiffonetti  or  "delight  makers,"  as  Bandelier  calls 
them. 

Their  faces  and  naked  bodies  smeared  with 
paint,  and  their  hair  entwined  with  rustling  corn- 
husks,  these  buffoons  come  suddenly  bounding  and 
yelping  into  the  plaza  and  set  the  crowd  into  an 
uproar  of  laughter  with  their  horseplay,  which 
continues  off  and  on  for  hours.  Nothing  is  safe 
from  their  irreverent  touch.  They  steal  peaches 
from  a  waggon  and,  starting  to  eat,  spit  them  out 
with  a  wry  face  as  if  bitter;  they  swarm  up  a 
ladder  to  a  housetop  and  into  a  room,  whence 
screams  and  laughter  announce  some  prank,  and 
in  a  moment  they  reappear,  one  bearing  a  water 
melon.  Descending  to  the  plaza,  the  thief  stands 
the  melon  on  his  head  and  the  others  line  up  before 
him  and  dance  and  chant  in  mockery  of  some 
ceremony.  Taken  with  a  sudden  thought,  they 
all  sit  down  in  a  circle  on  the  ground,  and  leaning 


THE  FIESTA  AT  TAOS  109 

forward,  seem  intent  on  some  wonder  in  their  midst. 
This,  of  course,  excites  the  curiosity  of  the  crowd, 
who  draw  near  only  to  be  blinded  with  showers  of 
dust  which  the  rogues  throw  over  their  shoulders. 
Then  they  rise,  put  their  heads  plottingly  together, 
looking,  from  time  to  time,  into  the  crowd. 
Suddenly  they  advance,  grab  a  man  from  it,  and 
lifting  his  struggling  form,  carry  him  in  triumph 
up  and  down  the  plaza,  meantime  blowing  horns 
which  they  have  gotten  somewhere.  Then  they 
drop  the  fellow  and  there  follows  a  series  of  im 
promptu  contortions,  stoopings  and  twistings  and 
leapings,  tooting  horns  backward  between  their 
legs,  climbing  upon  one  another's  shoulders,  until 
their  ingenuity  seems  at  its  limit,  and  they  stand 
meditating,  finger  to  forehead.  Then  another 
whispered  consultation,  and  separating,  they  wan 
der  off  amid  the  crowd.  All  at  once  there  is  a 
shout,  followed  by  a  childish  scream  of  terror. 
A  little  boy  in  fiesta  attire  of  new  purple  trousers 
has  met  the  eye  of  one  of  the  clowns,  who  swoops 
the  frightened  urchin  from  the  ground  and,  swing 
ing  him  under  his  arm,  marches  off  with  him 
towards  the  river,  followed  by  the  other  chiffonetti, 
sounding  blasts  upon  their  horns.  Arrived  at  the 


I  io  THE  FIESTA  AT  T A  OS 

stream,  the  little  kicking  form  is  dropped  into  the 
water,  whence  the  boy  is  fished  out  by  his  observ 
ant  mother  and  piloted  home  to  be  dried  off,  while 
the  buffoons,  grunting  and  wagging  their  rascally 
heads,  trudge  back  to  the  plaza.  The  climax  of 
their  sports  is  the  climbing  of  a  greased  pole  at  the 
top  of  which  sundry  prizes — melons,  cakes,  a 
whole  sheep,  and  so  on — are  slung.  These  secured, 
the  clowns  fade  away  to  their  estufa,  and  quite 
undramatically  the  fiesta  comes  to  a  close. 

Among  the  fiestas  of  the  New  Mexico  Pueblo 
Indians  there  is  none  that  the  traveller  is  more 
often  urged  to  attend  than  this  of  San  Geronimo, 
held  annually  on  September  3Oth.  As  an  Indian 
ceremony,  it  is  rather  disappointing,  though  a 
short  dance  at  sunset  the  evening  before,  in 
which,  as  on  the  fiesta  day,  the  participants  bear 
branches  of  quivering  aspens,  is  very  striking, 
with  its  background  of  the  evening  shadows  and 
the  sunset  light  glorifying  the  orange  and  yellow 
foliage  of  the  shaken  branches.  But  the  inter 
est  of  the  San  Geronimo  day  is  mainly  in  the  pic 
turesque  crowd  which  assembles  in  the  old  pueblo, 
the  largest  gathering,  probably,  that  ever  attends 
any  of  the  South- Western  Indian  dances.  This  is 


THE  FIESTA  AT  TAOS  in 

due  in  part  to  the  added  attraction  of  a  Mexi 
can  fiesta  of  several  days'  duration  during  the 
same  week,  held  at  Fernandez  de  Taos,  which 
draws  several  thousand  visitors  from  all  over 
North-Eastern  New  Mexico  and  Southern  Colo 
rado — Mexicans,  whites,  and  Indians  of  several 
tribes. 


Chapter  X 

Of  Picwfs  in  tHe  Country  of  tKe  Penitentes,  and 

How  Francisco  Dxiran's  MotHer 

Covilcl  not  Forget. 

WHEN  you  are  through  with  Taos,  you 
will  do  well  to  return  to  the  railroad 
by  way  of  Picuris  pueblo — that  is,  pro 
vided  you  are  sound  of  heart  and  lungs ;  for  Picuris 
lies  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  encompassed 
by  mountains  which  must  be  crossed  at  an  altitude 
of  ten  thousand.  This  is  a  superb  trip  in  itself, 
though  a  rough  one,  and  you  need  for  it  a  stout 
team  and  an  experienced  driver. 

"The  team  fs  all  right,"  said  the  livery  man,  as 
he  came  to  see  us  off  and  patted  the  two  fat  horses, 
big  enough  for  Brobdingnag,  "and  Ballard  's  all 
right;  he  11  deliver  the  goods. " 

Ballard,  the  driver,  a  serious-faced,  square- 
jawed  youth,  made  no  response  to  this  encomium, 
except  to  say,  "So  long,"  as  he  gathered  up  the 

112 


THE  PICUR1S  COUNTRY  113 

lines  and    drove  us  off  into  the    glorious  New 
Mexican  sunshine  of  the  clear  October  morning. 

For  several  miles  the  road  traversed  a  valley 
country,  crossed  now  and  again  by  little  brooks  of 
sparkling  water,  fresh  sprung  from  the  high  moun 
tains  at  our  backs.  On  every  hand  were  apple 
orchards  where  the  reddening  fruit  glowed  cheer 
fully  beside  some  low,  rambling  ranch-house,  look 
ing  to  Eastern  eyes  less  like  a  home  than  a  fortress, 
with  barred  gates  and  a  high  adobe  wall  joining  the 
house  to  the  corrals  and  outbuildings,  the  whole 
forming  a  square  about  an  enclosed  courtyard. 
And  then,  without  warning,  ranches  and  green 
pastures  were  as  a  tale  that  is  told  and  we  were 
winding  upward  through  wild  ravines,  beneath 
huge,  scattering,  forest  trees,  and  climbing,  climb 
ing,  climbing  the  "U.  S.  hill,"  the  steepest  and 
about  the  poorest  apology  for  a  highway  in  New 
Mexico.  Never  any  too  good,  it  was  now  at  its 
worst  from  the  unrepaired  effects  of  the  summer 
rains,  and  in  many  places  the  original  road  was 
washed  entirely  away,  leaving  only  a  wrack  of 
rocks  and  gullies  behind  it.  At  such  spots  Ballard 
would  alight,  prospect  for  a  promising  way  around, 
and  then  our  team  would  blaze  a  new  road  through 


ii4y  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

brush  and  boulders  until  the  old  one  was  picked  up 
again.  And  all  the  time  we  were  climbing  mile 
upon  mile  as  up  the  side  of  a  steep-pitched  roof. 

We  now  saw  the  reason  for  the  Brobdingnagian 
horses.  They  flinched  at  nothing;  took  arroyos 
and  boulders  with  composure,  and  when  the  steep 
mountain  steepened  more  sharply,  leaned  but  hard 
er  into  their  collars.  Nevertheless,  at  approach 
ing  two  miles  above  sea-level,  even  Brobdingnagian 
breath  comes  short,  and  as  the  summit  ridge  grew 
nearer,  Ballard  would  call  a  halt  every  fewliundred 
feet,  jam  down  the  brake,  and  let  the  horses  blow. 
Though  the  acclivity  sometimes  seemed  nearly 
forty-five  degrees,  so  that  the  team  clung  like  a 
fly  to  a  wall  and  Sylvia  and  I  fully  expected  to  see 
the  unblocked  wheels,  when  the  brake  was  released, 
fly  backward  and  carry  us  all  over  the  cliff,  the 
strength  and  temper  of  the  horses  were  always 
equal  to  the  resumption  of  pulling  without  the 
loss  of  an  inch. 

"Cussedest  proposition  in  the  South- West," 
remarked  Ballard  with  simple  fervour,  when,  the 
top  at  last  reached,  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  looked 
backward  down  the  mountain. 

Once  over  the  divide,  however,  the  beauty  of 


THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY  115 

the  scene  was  inexpressible,  as  we  bowled  along 
across  open,  natural  parks,  their  grassy  expanses 
brightened  with  wild  bloom,  and  set  in  the  midst 
of  magnificent,  coniferous  forests,  whose  inter 
spaces  were  golden  with  the  heavenly  sunlight. 
Now  and  then  the  road  descended  into  some  little, 
sequestered  valley  where  running  waters  made  the 
raising  of  wheat  and  chili  possible,  and  here  was 
always  the  conventional  Mexican  village  of  adobe, 
clustered  about  a  Catholic  church  with  its  cross- 
surmounted  steeple  and  bell.  On  the  outskirts  of 
these  hamlets,  often  in  the  wildest,  loneliest  spots, 
would  be  a  rude  wooden  cross  planted  near  the 
roadside  in  a  heap  of  stones,  and  again  on  the 
summit  of  some  hill  whose  sides  were  a  mass  of 
flinty  stones  and  thorny  cactus  clumps,  there 
would  stand  a  taller  cross. 

"They  are  set  up  by  the  Penitentes,"  Ballard 
said,  in  reply  to  our  question.  "The  Penitentes 
are  a  sort  of  Catholics  who  believe  if  they  turn  out 
in  Lent  stripped  to  the  waist  and  walk  barefooted 
over  sharp  stones,  with  loads  of  cactus  packed  on 
their  bare  backs,  and  whip  themselves  at  the  same 
time  with  whips  knotted  with  bits  of  sharp  iron 
till  the  blood  runs  off  their  bodies  like  rain,  it  '11 


n6  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

make  up  for  the  sins  they  have  committed  during 
the  year.  Gosh!  it  ought  to;  for  I  'm  here  to 
tell  you  cactus  hurts,  to  say  nothing  of  the  whips 
and  the  stones.  None  of  that  society  for  me, 
unless  I  could  be  an  honorary  member. " 

"Are  these  Indians  who  do  this?" 

"Not  on  your  life,"  Ballard  replied,  "they  've 
too  much  sense.  No,  it 's  these  greaser  Mexicans. 
Now,  those  hills  you  see  with  a  big  cross  on  top, 
they  call  them  places  Calvary,  out  of  the  Bible,  and, 
7on  Good  Friday,  they  always  hold  some  special 
doings  in  such  places,  and  time  has  been — and  not 
long  ago,  either — when  one  of  the  bunch  more 
fanatic  than  the  rest  would  have  himself  crucified 
there.  But  the  Church  won't  stand  for  that,  and 
they  have  had  to  cut  it  out,  though  I  would  n't 
swear  it  is  n't  yet  done  on  the  quiet.  These  little 
crosses  near  the  road  are  where  funerals  have 
stopped  on  the  way  to  the  graveyard.  Descansos 
they  call  them — that  means  rest — and  whenever  a 
pious  Penitente  comes  along,  he  is  supposed  to  say 
a  prayer  and  chuck  a  stone  or  two  on  the  pile  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross  to  help  his  cousin  out  of 
purgatory;  for  pretty  much  all  Mexicans  are 


THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY  117 

"And  how  does  all  this  affect  their  morals?" 
we  asked,  our  thoughts  still  on  the  penitential 
stripes.  "Do  they  try  to  be  good  for  the  ensu 
ing  year  so  as  to  weaken  the  next  dose  of  self- 
torture?" 

"No,  it  works  just  the  other  way.  They'd 
rather  play  the  devil  for  eleven  months  in  the  year 
any  time,  if  they  're  sure  they  can  wipe  off  the 
score  with  packing  cactus  for  a  week  or  two.  Why, 
I  've  known  a  man  to  cut  himself  all  up  within  an 
inch  of  his  life,  so  he  had  to  go  to  a  hospital  to  get 
made  over;  and  when  he  got  out,  he  was  as  bad  as 
ever  again.  Worse,  in  fact.  It 's  human  nature, 
if  you  believe  in  the  cure.  Oh,  they  're  a  hard 
outfit,  all  right!" 

And  so  into  Penasco  with  its  one  rambling 
street,  and,  at  the  end  of  it,  Senor  Smith's  veran- 
dahed  adobe  home,  with  flowers  blooming  about  its 
posts,  and  a  big  room  placed  at  our  disposal,  with 
two  soft  beds  and  windows  open  to  all  outdoors, 
and  a  pretty  Mexican  maiden  who,  as  she  with 
drew  after  filling  the  pitchers,  said  in  the  pleasant 
Spanish  way,  "You  are  in  your  own  home;  please 
let  us  know  if  there  is  anything  you  want. " 

Two  miles  from  this  Penitente  village  of  Penasco 


n8  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

and  you  are  on  the  rim  of  a  fertile  valley  through 
which  the  little  Rio  Pueblo  winds  its  beneficent 
way  between  fields  of  corn  and  apple  orchards  and 
thickets  of  wild  plum  to  join  the  Rio  Grande,  and 
by  its  banks  Indian  women  kneel  to  wash  their 
clothing  and  their  wheat.  On  a  slight  eminence 
in  the  midst  of  the  valley  is  the  pueblo  of  Picuris, 
a  mile  and  a  half  above  the  sea,  yet  high  mountains 
look  down  upon  it,  their  rounded  summits,  that 
early  October  morning  when  we  first  saw  them, 
crowned  with  fields  of  snow  above  aspen  belts  of 
gold. 

Time  was,  if  tradition  is  to  be  trusted,  when 
Picuris  boasted  its  four  thousand  fighting  men; 
but  pestilence  swept  off  much  of  the  population  at 
a  breath,  and  the  spirit  of  emigration  took  away 
others;  so  that  the  Picuris  of  to-day  harbours  a 
bare  two  hundred  souls  to  keep  alive  the  ways  of 
the  red  fathers  of  the  pueblo.  Mexican  squatters 
dwell  on  the  lands  by  the  river  and  a  Penitente 
morada,  or  meeting  place,  is  established  in  the  very 
shadow  of  the  ancient  Spanish  church  where  San 
Lorenzo  keeps  watch  and  ward  over  his  diminished 
flock. 

"Yes,  they're  pretty  fair  Catholics,"  said  the 


THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY  119 

bachelor  school-teacher,  who  left  his  breakfast 
dishes  to  welcome  us — a  rare  proceeding  for  a  Gov 
ernment  servant  in  the  Indian  country ; "  that  is, 
they  go  to  the  priest  to  marry  them  and  send  for  him 
to  bury  them,  if  he  comes  within  twenty-four  hours, 
else  the  dead  man  is  blanketed  and  buried  anyhow. 
Certain  corn-lands  by  the  river  are  set  aside  to  pay 
for  the  priest's  fees,  which  he  gets  in  a  lump  for  the 
year's  services.  But,  all  the  same,  the  old  Indian 
faith  is  the  one  they  live  by  and  is  zealously  kept 
alive.  There  is  a  lot  goes  on  in  the  old  under 
ground  estufas  up  there,  and  at  ancient  shrines  in 
the  hills  that  no  white  man  knows  of.  It  was 
only  the  other  day  one  of  the  Indian  men  came  to 
me  and  asked  permission  for  his  boy  to  be  absent 
from  school  for  four  days.  'What  for?'  I  asked. 
'That  is  not  for  you  to  know,'  he  answered.  It 
sounds  like  a  saucy  speech  to  a  representative  of 
the  United  States  Government,  but  he  did  not 
mean  it  so,  and  I  knew  very  well  it  was  some 
religious  rite  that  was  to  be  performed,  school  or 
no  school;  so  I  said,  'All  right.'  The  boy  was 
back  at  his  desk  in  four  days,  and  I  said,  '  Como 
'sta,  Pablito?'  and  he  said,  'Bueno,'  and  so  the 
matter  ended;  but  that  scholar  knew  something 


120  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

I  did  n't  and  never  will — nor  any  other  white 
man." 

To  the  student  of  antiquarian  tastes,  Picuris  has 
a  special  interest,  by  reason  of  certain  old  ruins 
there  which  stand,  cheek  by  jowl,  with  the  more 
modern  dwellings  that  form  the  main  part  of  the 
pueblo.  One  of  these  ruins  is  the  so-called  Scalp 
House,  in  which  hang  scalps  taken  from  conquered 
enemies  of  a  former  generation,  perhaps  by  some 
of  those  four  thousand  fighting  men  aforemen 
tioned.  Less  gruesome  is  the  Casa  Vieja  or  the 
"old  house,"  an  example  of  the  mud  architecture 
of  the  pre-Spanish  pueblo.  One  of  the  first 
things  the  Pueblos  learned  from  Spain  was  the 
making  of  brick.  Before  that,  where  stone  was 
not  used,  they  built  up  walls  by  making  a  mud 
base,  and  when  this  was  dry,  piling  more  on  top, 
and  so  on.  This  method  the  Casa  Vieja  plainly 
shows. 

Picuris  seemed  deserted  of  natives  until  we  in 
nocently  drew  out  the  camera.  Then,  apparently 
from  the  earth  before  us,  sprang  an  old  man — the 
war-captain,  it  turned  out — in  tight  trousers  with 
wide  flaps  down  the  side,  who  put  his  veto  upon 
our  photographic  intent.  The  schoolmaster  ar- 


THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY  121 

gued  with  him  in  Spanish  and  we  in  English ;  but 
he  was  adamant  against  the  taking  of  pictures  in 
the  pueblo,  unless  we  paid  five  dollars.  As  we 
could  see  nothing  in  the  place  worth  that  sum 
of  money,  we  shut  up  the  camera.  This  was  an 
evident  disappointment  to  him,  as  he  had  undoubt 
edly  calculated  upon  us  as  a  source  of  revenue. 
The  Mayor  of  Chicago,  it  seems,  had  once  been  to 
Picuris  and  paid  that  sum  for  the  privilege,  and 
why  should  not  we?  So  the  school-teacher  ex 
plained.  Whether  from  the  hope  that  we  might 
yet  relent  or  from  a  suspicion  that,  if  left  to  our 
selves,  we  would  do  as  we  pleased,  the  man  stuck 
to  us  closer  than  a  brother  while  we  walked  about. 
Upon  other  subjects  than  the  camera,  however,  he 
was  more  complaisant  and  even  became  communi 
cative  upon  matters  pertaining  to  the  present  life 
of  the  pueblo.  He  was  no  friend  of  the  American 
education,  which,  in  his  view,  was  pernicious  to 
Pueblo  morals. 

"The  young  people,"  he  remarked,  "are  not 
what  they  were.  We  cannot  trust  them  any  more, 
as  we  used  to,  nor  teach  them  the  secret  things  of 
our  people;  so  they  're  ignorant  of  a  great  many 
things  that  it  would  be  good  for  them  to  know. 


122  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

And  then  the  whiskey — every  young  man  in 
Picuris  nowadays  gets  drunk  whenever  he  has  a 
chance.  That  is  very  bad,  0  mucho  malo!" 

Pleasant  faces  looked  out  at  us  from  doorways 
where  crooning  voices  told  of  babies  being  put  to 
sleep,  and  the  hospitable  salutation  " entra"  en 
couraged  us  to  enter  more  than  one  habitation 
and  sit  with  the  family  awhile.  There  was  the 
usual  interest  in  where  we  had  come  from  and 
where  we  were  going,  and  was  it  hot  in  California, 
and  did  many  people  live  there.  A  peculiar  kind 
of  pottery  is  made  here  of  glistening,  micaceous 
clay,  which  is  serviceable  for  cooking  vessels;  and 
what  with  buying  some  of  this  and  distributing 
candy  liberally  among  the  children,  our  popularity 
in  the  pueblo  waxed  so  much  that  I  am  not  sure 
but  a  bid  of  a  dollar  to  our  truculent  capitan  de 
guerra  might  at  last  have  secured  us  permission  to 
photograph  the  Casa  Vieja.  But  our  dignity  for 
bade  our  reopening  negotiations  and  he  of  the 
flapping  trousers  made  no  overture;  so  Picuris 
remained  for  us  unphotographed  save  from  the 
outlying  hill. 

As  we  walked  towards  our  carriage  to  return  to 
Penasco,  we  heard  a  cry  behind  us,  and  turning, 


THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY  123 

saw  an  old  Pueblo  woman  and  a  young  man 
running  towards  us.  The  woman  was  gesticu 
lating  violently,  and  when  she  was  close  to  us, 
addressed  us  rapidly  in  Spanish. 

"My  son!"  we  interpreted  her  wailing.  "Do 
you  know  Francisquito  in  California?  I  am  so 
very  sad  here," — placing  her  hands  upon  her 
breast.  Then,  throwing  up  her  hands,  she  moaned, 
"Oh,  my  son,  my  son!  For  many  years,  now, 
nothing  from  my  son!" 

There  was  more  we  could  not  understand,  and 
we  turned  for  an  explanation  to  the  young  man, 
who  then  spoke  to  us  in  English. 

"This  woman,  she  is  my  mother,  and  she  has  a 
boy,  my  brother,  and  his  name  is  Francisco  Duran. 
A  long  time  ago  he  left  Picuris  and  went  to  Califor 
nia  where  you  come  from,  where  the  ocean  is. 
That  was  many  years  ago  and  he  has  never  come 
back  and  he  has  never  written  to  say  if  he  is  well. 
When  you  go  back  to  California,  my  mother  says, 
you  see  if  you  cannot  find  him  where  he  is,  and, 
when  you  see  him,  you  tell  him  to  send  word  to  his 
mother  in  Picuris  how  he  is.  She  is  very  sad  in  her 
heart  about  him,  and  she  wants  to  know.  You 
will  do  this?" 


124  THE  PICURIS  COUNTRY 

So,  in  red  breasts  as  in  white,  dwells  the  uni 
versal  mother-heart,  which  never  forgets,  but 
yearns  unceasingly  for  the  child  whom  the  world 
has  rapt  from  her  sight. 


Chapter    XI 

Of  .Ancient  Zvini,  and  Ko\v  tKe  Conquistadores 
Came  to  Discover  It. 

WITH  Zuni  and  its  picturesque  life,  the 
general  reader  is  probably  more  par 
ticularly  acquainted  than  with  any  of 
the  other  pueblos,  and  this  because  of  the  writings  of 
the  poet-ethnologist,  Frank  H.  Gushing,  who  for  a 
time  made  a  Pueblo  Indian  of  himself  and  dwelt, 
some  thirty  years  ago,  in  this  terraced  town. 
Though  inevitably  undergoing  modernisation,  it  is 
still  a  place  of  unique  interest,  the  largest  of  all  the 
pueblos  and,  perhaps,  the  most  tenacious  of  the 
ancient  way. 

Zuni  was  the  first  of  the  Pueblo  communities  to 
be  seen  by  Old  World  eyes,  and  those  eyes  were  a 
negro's — one  Estevanico's.  The  way  of  it  was  this : 
In  1536,  there  unexpectedly  appeared  in  the 
Spanish  settlements  of  Mexico,  out  of  the  northern 
wilderness,  three  Spaniards  and  this  negro,  the 

125 


126  SPAIN  DISCOVERS  ZUNI 

sole  survivors  of  Narvaez's  expedition  of  discov 
ery  and  conquest  which,  eight  years  before,  had 
landed  in  Florida  and  later  perished  miserably  of 
swamps  and  Indians — all  but  these  four,  who  had 
worked  their  painful  way  across  the  entire  south 
ern  border  of  what  is  now  the  United  States.  Their 
tale  excited  the  gold-hunting  Spanish  in  Mexico 
to  the  desire  of  exploring  that  more  northern 
country;  but  as  the  wanderers  had  come  out  of  it 
empty-handed,  it  was  thought  prudent  by  the 
Spanish  viceroy  in  Mexico,  before  fitting  out  an 
expedition,  to  despatch  a  small  reconnoitring 
party  to  ascertain  in  advance  if  an  expedition 
were  worth  while. 

This  reconnaissance,  which  was  made  in  1539, 
was  placed  in  charge  of  a  Franciscan  friar,  known 
to  history  as  Fray  Marcos  de  Niza.  His  compan 
ions  were  another  Franciscan  Brother  (who,  how 
ever,  soon  became  ill  and  had  to  be  left  behind), 
several  Mexican  Indians,  and  the  negro,  Estevanico 
aforesaid,  as  guide.  After  a  little,  the  negro  was 
sent  on  before,  with  orders  to  make  report,  from 
time  to  time,  by  Indians  of  what  he  found.  These 
reports  proved  very  glowing  and  contained,  among 
other  matter,  the  assertion  that  a  month's  journey 


SPAIN  DISCOVERS  ZUNI  127 

ahead  was  a  province  called  Cibola,  containing 
seven  large  cities,  all  subject  to  one  lord.  In  them 
were  houses  of  one,  two,  and  three  stories,  built 
terrace-like,  and  the  chief's  residence  was  of  four 
stories ;  there  were  many  decorations  on  the  houses ; 
the  people  were  well-clothed ;  and  there  was  wealth 
of  turquoise. 

Thus  encouraged,  the  friar  pushed  on,  accom 
panied  by  his  Indians,  all  footing  it  across  the 
midsummer  desert  of  what,  in  our  day,  is  South- 
Eastern  Arizona.  Now  and  again  an  Indian  run 
ner  brought  back  word  from  Estevanico  of  his 
safe  progress  until,  at  last,  Fray  Marcos  was  within 
an  easy  journey  of  Cibola's  seven  cities.  Then  a 
great  blow  befell.  Fugitive  Indians  of  Estevani 
co 's  escort  on  a  sudden  appeared  with  news  of  the 
negro's  arrival  in  Cibola  and  of  his  murder  there. 
The  African,  it  seems,  left  so  long  to  his  own  de 
vices,  had  grown  arrogant,  and  upon  reaching 
Cibola,  although  hospitably  received,  had  set 
about  mistreating  the  women.  This  infuriated 
the  men  of  the  pueblo,  who  incontinently  repaid 
the  outrage  with  death1;  for,  as  Coronado 

1  How  thoroughly  the  negro's  offence  aroused  the  Pueblo  men 
is  indicated  by  Coronado's  statement  in  a  letter  sent  a  year  later 


128  SPAIN  DISCOVERS  ZUNI 

records,  "their  women  the  Indians  love  better 
than  themselves.'* 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  place  being  in 
a  fever  of  resentment,  prudent  Brother  Marcos 
decided  that,  if  he  was  to  deliver  a  report  of  his 
findings  to  the  viceroy,  he  had  best  stay  out  of 
Cibola.  Nevertheless,  if  he  might  not  enter  the 
towns  of  his  quest,  he  did,  like  Moses  on  Nebo's 
peak,  get  at  least  a  glimpse  of  the  Promised  Land 
from  a  hilltop  overlooking  the  great  plain  in  which 
the  villages  lay.  On  that  height,  he  tells  us,  he 
planted  a  wooden  cross,  symbol  of  the  faith  that 
was  some  day  to  be  preached  there,  and  then, 
descending,  beat  his  retreat  towards  Mexico,  carry 
ing  such  stories  of  settled  towns  and  fertile  valleys 
that  the  Spanish  adventurers,  when  they  heard 
the  tale,  felt  sure  of  the  presence  there  of  gold  and 
other  treasure. 

from  Cibola  to  the  Viceroy  Mendoza,  to  the  effect  that,  although 
he  had  been  in  the  pueblo  some  time,  he  had  not  been  permitted 
to  see  any  of  the  women,  whom  the  men  kept  under  guard  from 
the  strangers.  This  letter,  "given  from  the  Province  of  Cevola 
and  this  city  of  Granada  [Coronado's  new  christening  of  the 
pueblo  in  which  he  was  quartered],  the  3d  of  August,  1540,  by 
Francisco  Vasquez  de  Coronado,  who  kisses  the  hand  of  his  most 
illustrious  lordship,  the  Viceroy,"  gives  a  very  graphic  and  read 
able  account  of  Pueblo  life  as  the  first  Spaniards  found  it.  It 
will  be  found  in  Winship's  Coronado. 


SPAIN  DISCOVERS  ZUNI  129 

So  was  the  ground  cleared  for  the  memorable 
expedition  of  Coronado,  which  set  out  from  Mexico 
the  next  year  (1540)  and  resulted  in  the  discovery 
of  all  the  Pueblo  towns,  which,  at  that  time,  num 
bered  upwards  of  three  score.  The  Cibola  of  Fray 
Marcos  was  what  we  now  know  as  Zuni r ;  but  the 
seven  little  cities  of  that  early  day  are  now  but 
rubbish  heaps,  of  interest  only  to  the  archaeologist 
and  the  curio  hunter.  The  present  pueblo,  ancient 
as  it  looks,  is  post-Coronadian,  a  consolidation  of 
the  original  seven,  but  its  human  life  is  essentially 
unchanged  from  what  that  knightly  servant  of  the 
Spanish  King  observed  and  recorded. 

1  For  an  interesting  account  of  the  identification  of  Zuni  with 
the  sixteenth -century  mystery  of  the  "Seven  Cities  of  Cibola," 
see  Bandelier's  "Cibola"  in  The  Gilded  Man. 


Chapter  XII 

Of  Zuni  in  tKe  Rain,  and  of  Zuni  DicK. 

THOUGH  the  sun  shines  upon  New  Mexico 
three  hundred  days  on  an  average  out  of 
the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  it  was 
raining  on  the  October  evening  when  we  arrived 
at  Zuni.  The  next  morning,  the  rain  still  de 
scending,  we  decided  it  would  be  more  comfortable 
out  in  the  real  thing  than  in  our  adobe  room,  where 
from  a  variety  of  leaks  in  the  roof  an  intermittent 
drip  fell  emphatically  upon  the  floor,  unless  inter 
cepted  by  some  part  of  our  bodies.  So,  clad  in 
rubber,  we  went  forth  to  investigate  the  old  pueblo. 
There  was  a  streak  of  light  in  the  west,  where  the 
sky  bent  down  to  Arizona,  but  in  the  east,  Towa- 
Yalleni — Mountain  of  the  Sacred  Corn — was  still 
wrapped  in  mists,  out  of  which  diverse  winds  blew 
shrewdly — one,  colder  than  its  predecessor,  now 
and  again  turning  the  rain  to  short-lived  spits  of 
snow.  The  tortuous  little  streets  were  gummy, 

130 


WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK  131 

as  only  adobe  can  be  on  a  wet  day,  and  deserted 
of  life.  Even  the  pigs,  dogs,  and  burros  were 
hidden  away  under  lee  walls,  and  the  turkeys 
lurked  disconsolate  in  the  covered  alleys.  But 
human  Zurii  was  as  gay  as  though  the  sun  shone. 
Its  good  humour  was  but  increased  by  the  wet, 
which  meant  the  showered  blessings  of  the  gods, 
filling  the  springs  and  making  the  earth  fruitful. 

A  dusky  face  beneath  a  crown  of  glossy  black 
hair,  filleted  about  with  a  bright  magenta  head 
band,  looked  out  at  us  from  a  half -opened  door 
way,  and  the  smiling  Zuni  man  said : 

' '  You  happy  ?     Where  you  go  ?  " 

We  stopped  and  smiled  back. 

"I,  Zuni  Dick,"  continued  the  Zuni.  "You  no 
hully?1  You  come  in  my  houses. " 

The  door  was  hospitably  opened;  one  puppy 
was  lifted  by  the  nape  of  its  mangy  neck  and 
deposited  outdoors,  while  another  was  shunted 
under  the  table,  and  we  were  invited  to  sit  down 
in  the  household's  two  cherished  American  chairs. 
It  was  a  typical  Zuni  interior,  with  clean,  white 
washed  walls  and  a  beamed  ceiling  of  unhewn  logs. 

1  The  Zuni  language  has  no  sound  of  r,  which  the  Zuni  tongue, 
like  the  Chinese,  pronounces  as  an  /. 


I32  WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK 

At  one  end  of  the  great  room  were  the  mealing 
stones — a  half-dozen  square  slabs  of  malpais, 
dipped  to  the  floor  at  an  angle  of  forty -five  degrees 
and  boxed  about  with  stone.  At  one  of  them  a 
young  girl  knelt,  and  with  a  smaller  stone  was 
rubbing  corn  up  and  down,  as  on  a  washboard,  and 
crushing  it  to  meal.  The  air  was  fragrant  with  the 
sweetness  of  the  bruised  grain  and  musical  with 
the  hum  of  the  stones  in  contact.  About  the 
room  at  the  base  of  the  walls  ran  a  low  bench  of 
whitewashed  adobe,  which  served  as  a  seat  as  well 
as  a  shelf  for  the  blankets  that,  by  night,  were 
spread  on  the  floor  for  beds.  Tacked  to  the  wall, 
beside  a  bundle  of  gourd  rattles  and  a  leather 
pouch  for  sacred  meal,  was  a  row  of  coloured 
covers  of  magazines  and  weeklies  whose  publishers 
little  suspected  the  extent  of  their  circulation.  A 
row  of  water-jars  with  decorations  in  red  and  black 
gave  a  bright  touch  to  their  corner,  and  a  gaily- 
coloured  blanket,  still  in  the  loom,  flamed  out 
from  one  of  the  walls.  A  triangular  fireplace, 
built  into  the  corner  near  the  door,  was  aglow  with 
a  leaping  fire  of  juniper  wood  set  on  end,  while  in 
a  pot  cocked  against  the  blazing  sticks,  roasting 
pifion  nuts  were  being  stirred  by  Dick's  wife,  who 


WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK  133 

with  a  deft  toss  of  her  head  as  we  entered  had 
caused  her  long  hair  to  fall  modestly  over  her  face 
to  veil  it.  It  was  a  scene  in  our  twentieth-century 
America  not  essentially  different  from  scenes  with 
which  the  old  Conquistador es  of  three  centuries 
ago  were  familiar.  Zuni  is  conservative. 

"I  all  a  time  busy,"  remarked  Dick  compla 
cently,  as  he  rubbed  bits  of  turquoise  beads  upon  a 
flat  stone  in  his  lap  to  make  them  smooth.  Then, 
as  he  prattled  on,  we  gathered  that  he  was  local 
policeman,  by  the  grace  of  the  Indian  agent  at 
Black  Rock,  and  wore  a  blue  coat  with  brass 
buttons  and  a  Kossuth  hat  with  gold  cord.  The 
duties  of  this  office  consisted  principally  in  con 
voying  to  the  Government  school  truant  little 
Zufiis  who,  preferring  sunshine  and  freedom  to 
paleface  knowledge,  vanished  from  sight  when  the 
school-bell  rang.  It  was  a  busy  life,  this,  of  round- 
ing-up  these  luckless  young  savages,  involving  not 
only  exercise  of  leg  but  nimble  argument  with 
conspiring  matrons,  who  wanted  to  keep  their 
progeny  uncontaminated  by  influences  which  made 
for  bad  manners  and  for  skepticism  regarding  the 
red  gods  of  their  fathers.  Saturday  and  Sunday, 
however,  were  holidays,  and  Dick  was  then  free 


i34  WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK 

to  follow  his  own  devices — one  of  which  was  to 
cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  white  visitors  to 
Zuni,  and  let  them  into  such  of  its  mysteries  as  he 
thought  suitable  for  white  folk  to  know. 

Perhaps,  then,  he  could  take  us  where  we  could 
watch  a  Zuni  silversmith  at  work?  We  wanted  to 
see  a  Zuni  man  make  a  bracelet. 

"Ye-es,"  he  said  indulgently,  "I  show  you. 
When  you  want  to  go,  you  come  to  my  houses. " 

When  we  came  out  of  Dick's  "houses, "  the 
clouds  had  parted  and  the  sun  was  shining  glori 
ously  in  the  blessed  blue.  Doors  stood  open  that 
had  been  shut  against  the  rain;  men  were  ascir 
catching  donkeys  to  ride,  on  one  errand  or  another ; 
the  turkeys  and  the  pigs  and  laughing  children 
were  abroad  again.  A  bright-faced  woman  was 
patiently  leading  a  blind  man  to  a  warm  corner, 
where  he  might  bask  in  the  sun  while  she  went  to 
the  town  well  to  fill  her  jar,  the  gourd  dipper 
clinking  within  it  as  she  walked. 

The  silversmith  was  a  young  man  with  the  face 
of  an  angel  and  huge  turquoise  earrings.  His 
shop  was  set  up  in  the  one  room  of  his  house,  for, 
excepting  Nick,  the  storekeeper,  who  wears  white 
man's  clothes  and  a  hat,  and  was  once  strung  up 


WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK  135 

for  a  witch,  and  lives  out  of  his  shop,  no  Zuni  man 
divorces  business  and  home. 

"You  want  'im  make  HI'  closses  like  ol'  time?" 
asked  Dick,  to  whose  Zuni  heart  the  characteristic 
double-barred  crosses  of  his  people  were  very  dear, 
"or  necklace  of  beads  with  piece  of  moon  on  end, 
or  you  want  'im  blacelet  with  pictu'  put  on?" 

We  explained  that  what  we  desired  was  a  brace 
let  with  ornaments  stamped  on  it. 

"You  want  'im  make  blacelet,"  pursued  Dick. 
"You  give  'im  money — dolla' — half-dolla' — 7 
dunno — you  know.  Fully  quick  he  make  blacelet 
—you  see — you  give  'im  all  same  money  again — 
you  take  blacelet." 

We  understood  enough  of  this  to  realise  that  it 
was  needful  to  supply  the  craftsman  with  the  raw 
material  at  the  outset;  so  we  produced  a  Mexican 
silver  half-dollar  and  taking  two  proffered  chairs 
sat  down  to  abide  the  issue.  • 

Said  Dick:  "You  stay  and  see — no  be  aflaid — 
all  same  home — good-by, "  and  departed. 

The  silversmith  blew  up  the  fire  in  a  little  forge 
which  stood  against  the  wall,  and  into  a  small 
crucible  which  he  picked  from  the  ashes  of  a 
previous  fire,  he  dropped  our  coin  to  its  melting. 


i36  WE  MEET  ZUNI  DICK 

Then  he  poured  the  puddle  of  molten  metal  into 
an  oblong  depression  of  the  forge  hearth  and  the 
result  was  a  short  pig  of  silver.  This  he  placed 
upon  an  anvil  and  hammered  patiently,  heating 
and  reheating  it  as  it  cooled,  until  it  had  become  a 
flat,  narrow  strip  of  bruised  and  blackened  silver, 
which,  bent  into  a  circle  until  the  two  ends  all  but 
touched,  would  fit  the  wrist.  (Unlike  the  bracelet 
of  civilisation,  the  Indian  bracelet  has  a  gap  in  its 
circle,  through  which  the  wrist  is  passed.)  The 
blank  surface  was  then  ready  for  decoration.  Our 
smith  took  from  a  basket  a  handful  of  small  iron 
punches,  each  of  which  bore  at  its  tip  a  die  of 
different  design  from  its  fellows — dots,  variously 
arranged,  combinations  of  slashes,  crescents,  stars, 
and  what-not.  With  these  he  composed  an 
elaborate  ornamentation,  punching  it  upon  the 
silver  with  hammer  taps.  Finally,  the  bracelet 
was  dipped  in  boiling  water  in  which  a  lump  or 
two  of  a  cleansing  white  earth,  gathered  in  the 
neighbouring  hills,  had  been  dissolved,  and  was 
handed  to  us  unsoiled  and  fresh  as  from  the  mint. 
We  paid  another  half-dollar  for  the  work  and  the 
negotiation  was  completed. 


CKapter  XIII 

Of  Hoviseheeping  in  Zvirii,  and  How  Zvini  DicK 
Helped  Us  to  Dv»y  Meat. 

A  T  Zuni  temporary  sojourners  have  the 
/  %  choice  of  three  ways  of  existence.  The 
2  "\.  Government  school  may  take  you  to 
board,  but  as  it  is  not  a  boarding-house,  that  is 
not  to  be  counted  on.  Almost  any  Indian  family 
would  harbour  you — the  Zunis  not  yet  having 
been  civilised  out  of  the  primitive  virtue  of  hospi 
tality — but  unless  the  ways  of  civilised  life  rest  as 
lightly  upon  you  as  they  did  upon  Gushing,  you 
would  not  stomach  that.  The  third  way  is  to  hire 
a  room  (the  missionary  may  accommodate  you) 
and  board  yourself.  We  did  that  and  prospered. 
The  Indian  trader  will  provide  most  of  the  neces 
saries  of  life  at  rates  as  a  rule  not  exceeding  one  or 
two  hundred  per  cent,  over  the  prices  of  civilisation 
—he  must  live — and  some  luxuries  may  be  had 
from  Gallup,  forty -five  miles  away,  when  a  team 

137 


138        OUR  ZUNI  HOUSEKEEPING 

comes  thence.  Fresh  meat  is  to  be  had  of  the 
Indians,  as  also  eggs.  As  two  sparrows  in  Biblical 
times  were  sold  for  a  farthing,  so  it  is  the  unwritten 
law  of  Zufii  that  three  eggs  sell  for  a  nickel.  Thus 
forewarned  and  provided  with  a  borrowed  egg 
which,  held  up,  should  make  known  our  need,  for 
we  talked  no  Zufii  and  few  Zufiis  speak  English, 
we  had  no  trouble. 

The  quest  of  meat  proved  a  more  serious  matter, 
and  we  decided  to  call  on  Dick  for  assistance.  He 
was  not  at  home  when  we  knocked  at  his  door, 
but  his  wife  smilingly  gave  us  seats,  made  some 
matter-of-fact  remark  in  Zufii,  and  went  on  dyeing 
wool.  We  sat  expectant  for  three  quarters  of  an 
hour;  then,  our  Caucasian  impatience  getting  the 
better  of  us  and  the  sun  being  low,  we  said  good- 
by  and  left.  Two  corners  away  we  found  Dick 
passing  the  time  of  day  with  a  neighbour. 

"You  want  sheep  meat  or  cow?"  he  asked. 

If  sheep  meat  was  not  goat,  we  should  like  that, 
we  thought. 

Dick  meditated,  then  said : 

"You  come — mebbe  some  Zufii  man  he  have 
cow  meat — /  dunno — we  see." 

We  filed  across  the  great  plaza,  through  a  black, 


OUR  ZUNI  HOUSEKEEPING        139 

covered  passage  into  the  little  north  plaza, 
clamorous  with  dogs  all  atongue  at  our  intrusion, 
then  zigzag  by  one  lane  and  another  till  we  were 
lost.  The  evening  fires  were  gleaming  in  the 
houses,  and  through  doors  ajar  we  could  hear  the 
pleasant  voices  of  the  inmates  gathered  about 
their  suppers.  It  occurred  to  us  then  that,  though 
we  had  been  three  days  in  Zuni,  we  had  not  heard 
a  cross  word  spoken  by  man  or  woman,  or  seen 
a  child  harshly  treated.  After  a  stay  of  seven 
weeks,  we  could  say  the  same.  The  gods  of  Zuni 
have  no  ear  for  rough  speakers. 

Dick  knocked  at  a  door  and  we  all  entered.  A 
murmur  of  welcome  greeted  us,  and  an  elderly 
Zuni  man  alertly  came  forward  and  shook  hands. 
In  the  dim  twilight  we  could  distinguish  seven  or 
eight  people  in  the  room,  collected  about  a  lit 
tle  cook-stove  in  the  centre.  Our  host  set  three 
stools  for  us. 

"Long  time  ago,  same  as  'Melican  sit-down 
chai's, "  explained  Dick. 

A  few  minutes*  decorous  silence  and  then  all  the 
Zunis  joined  in  a  leisurely  conversation;  now  and 
then  a  cigarette  was  lighted  and  enjoyed,  and 
there  was  an  occasional  musical  laugh  at  some 


140        OUR  ZUNI  HOUSEKEEPING 

witticism  of  Dick's,  who  seemed  to  be  a  humourist. 
Through  a  window  we  saw  the  moon  beginning  to 
flood  the  street  with  radiance  and  so  far  as  we 
could  judge  the  meat  was  as  far  from  us  as  ever. 
By  and  by,  three  cups  and  a  pot  of  coffee,  a  pan  of 
meat,  and  a  basket  of  bread  were  placed  on  the 
floor  in  front  of  us. 

"You  eat, "  said  Dick,  "it  no  cost  you  nossing. " 

Then  more  talk,  and  finally  our  host  went  to  an 
inner  room  and  reappeared  with  a  foreleg  of  beef, 
which  he  deposited  upon  the  floor. 

"You  want  'im  meat,"  said  Dick,  "you  take." 

"How  much  for  fifty  cents?"  we  asked. 

"I  dunno, "  said  Dick;  "you  got  scales?  Mebbe 
you  weigh  some." 

We  explained  that  we  did  not  carry  a  butchering 
outfit  in  our  pockets,  and  they  must  cut  off  fifty 
cents'  worth.  Whereupon  a  saw  and  an  axe  were 
brought,  and  with  these  and  the  assistance  of 
most  assembled,  a  piece  was  hacked  off  and  placed 
in  our  hands  au  naturel. 

We  tendered  our  benefactor  half  a  dollar.  He 
glanced  at  it  and  said  something  in  Zuiii.  We 
looked  appealingly  at  Dick. 

"He  say  seventy -five  cents." 


OUR  ZUNI  HOUSEKEEPING        141 

"But  we  ordered  only  fifty  cents'  worth." 

Another  outburst  of  Zuni,  and  then  Dick 
observed,  as  though  shedding  new  light  upon  the 
subject : 

"He  say  seventy-five  cents." 

"But  we  only  ordered  fifty  cents'  worth.  Tell 
him  to  throw  in  a  soup-bone  and  we  will  give  sixty 
cents." 

And  on  this  basis  the  negotiation  was  concluded 
with  a  handshake  all  around. 


Chapter  XIV 

Of  Sa-wi-etsi-tsita,  How  She  Made  Us  Jars, 
and  SomewHat  of  Zuni  Babies. 

DEEP  in  a  hillside  at  the  foot  of  the  pueblo 
is  the  great  well  of  Zuni.  Here  sometimes 
we  would  sit  of  a  morning  to  watch  the 
fashion  in  water- jars.  The  Zuni  water-carriers 
are  invariably  women  or  girls,  and  Rebecca  at  her 
well  was  not  a  fairer  sight,  we  fancied,  than  some 
of  those  Indian  maidens  in  their  picturesque 
pueblo  dress.  Here  all  day  they  came  and  went, 
singly  or  in  couples,  pausing  for  a  moment's  gossip 
in  the  cool  cavern  of  the  shady  well  before  setting 
their  brimming  jars  upon  their  heads.  Then, 
erect  as  arrows  and  without  touching  hand  again 
to  their  burdens,  they  mounted  the  broad  stairway 
and  climbed  the  hill  to  home. 

The  making  of  pottery  is  to  the  Zufiis  what 
blanket-weaving  is  to  the  Navajos.  It  is  their 
characteristic  industry.  The  material  used  is  a 

142 


ZUNI  POTTERY-MAKING  143 

bluish  clay,  which  is  obtained  from  the  summit  of 
Towa-Yalleni,  several  miles  distant,  and  brought 
laboriously  home  slung  in  a  blanket  upon  the 
potter's  back.  The  clay  is  powdered  on  a  stone 
metate  to  the  fineness  of  meal,  mixed  with  water, 
and  kneaded  until  the  mess  resembles  blue  corn- 
mush.  The  building-up  of  the  jar  is  done  entirely 
by  hand,  excepting  the  base,  which  is  moulded  upon 
the  bottom  of  an  old  pot.  There  is  a  concavity  in 
the  bottom  which  just  fits  the  head  of  the  carrier 
and  helps  hold  it  steady  there.  Upon  this  base,  coil 
upon  coil  of  the  plastic  mud  is  built  up,  the  creases 
of  conjunction  being  smoothed  away  with  a  bit  of 
gourd.  The  jar  is  then  set  aside  to  dry  thoroughly. 
One  day  we  saw  one  in  this  unfinished  stage  in 
Sa-wi-etsi-tsita's  house  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
let  us  watch  her  decorate  it,  to  which  she  consent 
ing,  we  came  with  candy  for  the  babies  and  spent 
an  afternoon.  The  colours  used  in  decoration  are 
made  from  minerals  found  in  the  hills  about  Zufii, 
and  are  white,  red,  and  a  brown  that  is  almost 
black.  Sa-wi-etsi-tsita  is  an  artist  and  feels  the 
inspiration  of  appreciative  visitors,  her  face  glow 
ing  with  content  and  the  joy  of  creation  as  she 
works.  She  sits  flat  upon  the  floor,  and  after 


I44          ZUNI  POTTERY-MAKING 

covering  the  jar  with  a  coating  of  white,  and 
polishing  it  with  a  smooth  stone  until  the  surface 
shines,  she  lays  on  the  figures  of  the  decoration 
with  a  sliver  of  yucca  leaf,  shredded  at  the  end  to 
make  a  brush  of  it.  Out  of  the  storehouse  of  her 
memory  the  design  grows  without  an  error,  and  is 
balanced  in  all  its  parts  as  perfectly  as  though  the 
jar  had  first  been  measured  and  sectioned  off  for  it 
with  rule  and  compass.  The  design  may  be  purely 
geometrical,  symbolic  perhaps  of  clouds  and  rain; 
or  it  may  be  of  conventionalised  leaves  and  flowers; 
or  it  may  be — and  her  Zuni  soul  loves  this  above 
all — representative  of  swimming  ducks  and  of  deer 
with  visible  hearts;  but  whatever  the  design,  once 
started  it  is  worked  out  on  certain  conventional 
lines  which  have  come  to  her  by  tradition  and  can 
not  be  arbitrarily  varied.  Sa-wi-etsi-tsita  made  sev 
eral  pieces  of  pottery  for  us  during  our  stay  at  Zuni, 
and  of  one  the  pattern  was  so  exceedingly  plain,  in 
severe  lines  of  brown  on  white,  that  we  asked  her 
not  to  do  that  for  us  again  but  always  to  put  in  some 
red  decoration,  too.  Our  American  ignorance  dis 
appointed  her,  for  did  we  not  know  what  every 
Zuni  knows,  that  that  design  never  permits  red? 
The  final  stage  of  pottery-making  is  the  firing, 


ZUNI  POTTERY-MAKING  145 

and  when  this  is  reached,  the  entire  female  portion 
of  the  household  is  agog.  The  decorated  jar  is 
carefully  borne  into  the  street,  a  place  protected 
from  wind  and  travel  is  chosen,  and  the  jar  is  set 
mouth  down  upon  a  circle  of  small  stones  or  scrap 
iron.  Then  a  cylinder  of  dry  sheep-manure  chips 
is  built  up  around  the  jar.  Kindling  of  cedar 
shreds  is  laid  within,  together  with  a  sheep  shank 
or  head  (why,  quien  sabe?  Sa-wi-etsi-tsita  only 
knows  it  makes  the  fire  burn  better) ,  and  the  whole 
is  fired.  Little  by  little  the  flame  spreads  and 
fattens  upon  the  unpromising  fuel,  and,  through 
the  open  chinks  of  the  chips,  one  may  see  the  pot 
brightening  in  the  intense  heat,  as  safe  as  Daniel 
in  his  fiery  furnace.  When  the  fuel  is  consumed, 
the  jar  is  carefully  lifted  out  and  set  aside  to  cool, 
when  it  is  ready  for  service. 

Woman's  invasion  of  man's  time-honoured  voca 
tions  has  not  yet  reached  Zufii.  There  the  old- 
fashioned  partition  of  life's  labours  between  male 
and  female  is  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  ancients. 
Men  plant  the  corn  and  harvest  it;  the  women 
grind  it  and  make  the  bread.1  Men  tend  the 

1  "They  make  the  best  corncakes  I  have  ever  seen  anywhere, " 
writes  Coronado  from  Zufii  in  1540,  "and  this  is  what  everybody 


146  ZUNI  POTTERY-MAKING 

sheep  and  cattle  and  go  rabbit  hunting ;  the  women 
cook  the  meat.  The  women  are  the  potters  and 
blanket-weavers ;  the  men  are  the  silversmiths,  and 
do  the  knitting  and  moccasin-making  and  most  of 
the  sewing  on  the  American  machines,  which  many 
households  possess.  The  men  build  the  houses ;  the 
women  plaster  them  and  build  the  ovens,  and  bit 
terly  disappointed  would  they  be  if  they  should  not 
be  allowed  to  put  these  finishing  touches  to  houses 
to  be  consecrated  at  Shalako  time  by  the  pres 
ence  of  the  Tall  Gods  and  their  attendant  maskers. 
As  to  the  babies,  everybody  has  a  care  of  them. 
Their  lives  are  one  round  of  pleasant  happenings. 
When  they  are  not  sleeping,  they  are  eating,  and 
when  they  are  doing  neither  of  these,  they  are 
taking  the  air — so  runs  their  infant  world  away. 
To  the  little  girls  and  the  grandfathers  falls  the 
lion's  share  of  nursing  the  little  folk;  but  it  is  no 
unusual  sight  to  see  smiling  middle-aged  or  young 
fathers  striding  along  about  their  business,  with  a 
baby  in  a  blanket  swung  upon  their  backs.  The 
men  cannot  bear  to  hear  a  child  cry,  and  we  have 

ordinarily  eats.  They  have  the  very  best  arrangement  and 
machinery  for  grinding  that  ever  was  seen. "  And  the  fashion 
in  corncakes  is  still  as  it  was  in  Coronado's  time. 


A  Zuni  man  knitting  his  wife's  leggings.     The  men  also  run  the 
sewing-machine,  when  a  household  owns  one. 


ZUNI  POTTERY-MAKING  147 

seen  them  stop  their  work  to  pick  up  a  fretting 
baby  and  take  it  out  for  a  walk.  How  the  babies 
got  on  the  back  was  as  much  of  a  puzzle  to  us, 
until  we  saw  the  deed  done,  as  was  the  apple  in 
the  dumpling  to  the  old  philosopher.  The  man 
humped  himself  as  for  leap-frog,  swung  the  de 
lighted  infant  so  that  it  lit  lightly  on  its  stomach 
upon  the  broad  of  his  back,  its  arms  and  legs 
spread  out  like  a  swimming  frog's,  and  then  the 
blanket  was  caught  under  and  around  the  child  so 
as  to  hold  it  as  in  a  sack. 

In  Zuni,  the  baby  is  never  in  the  way — of  all  the 
blessings  of  the  gods  it  is  the  most  desired  and  the 
most  cherished.  High  up  on  the  Mountain  of 
the  Sacred  Corn  is  a  double  spire  of  rock,  which 
according  to  Zuni  folk-lore  represents  the  meta 
morphosed  bodies  of  two  children  sacrificed  in 
ancient  days  to  save  Zuni  from  a  flood.  Dick 
pointed  them  out  to  us  one  day. 

"Zuni  man  and  woman,"  he  remarked,  "they 
get  mallied.  Bimeby,  no  have  any  chillen.  They 
solly.  They  come  to  mountain,  climb  'way  up- 
put  on  player  plumes — 'way  up.  Then  next  year 
mebbe  have  chillen,  and  all  happy. " 


CKapter  XV 

Of  a  Zuni  Grinding  Song,  and  of  Prayer  Plumes. 

ONE  afternoon  a  knock  came  at  our  door 
and  there  stood  Dick. 
' '  You  no  busy  ?  "  he  inquired.  ' '  You 
want  listen  'em  sing  song?  You  come  with  me. " 
So  we  went.  It  was  the  week  before  the  great 
annual  festival  of  the  Shalako  gods,  and  Zuni  was 
all  preparation  for  the  joyous  feast.  For  weeks, 
by  waggon  and  burro  back,  the  corn  had  been 
coming  in  from  the  distant  fields,  and  housetops 
and  yards  were  piled  high  with  the  rustling  harvest. 
Women  and  old  men  were  sitting  in  the  sun, 
stripping  the  husks  from  the  ears,  which  were  of  a 
score  of  colours — red,  yellow,  blue,  white,  black, 
magenta,  orange,  lilac,  pink, — and  tossing  them 
into  kaleidoscopic  piles.  There  would  be  no  hun 
ger  in  Zuni  this  year,  for  the  harvest  was  abound 
ing  and  even  the  burros  shared  in  the  general  good 
humour,  feeding  and  fattening  knee-deep  in  corn- 
husks. 

148 


A  GRINDING  SONG  149 

We  ascended  a  ladder  at  the  sun  priest's  house 
and,  crossing  a  number  of  roofs,  came  to  a  door 
from  which  the  sound  of  a  drum  issued.  The 
small  room,  dimly  lighted  by  three  windows  under 
the  roof,  was  thronged.  Two  mustachioed  Nava- 
jos  were  bartering  silver  trinkets  with  a  little,  soft- 
voiced  Zufii  man  behind  the  door;  a  cluster  of 
women  were  cooking  at  the  fire,  and  through  the 
door  others  came  and  went  bearing  baskets  heaped 
high  with  meal  or  corn.  In  a  dusky  corner  was  a 
choir  of  eight  young  men,  singing  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  a  primitive  drum — a  large  jar  with  a  skin 
stretched  tightly  over  its  mouth.  Across  the 
room,  where  from  one  of  the  windows  the  light  fell 
upon  them,  were  five  or  six  young  women  grinding 
corn  upon  as  many  mealing  stones,  their  lithe 
bodies  rising  and  descending  in  unison  and  keeping 
time  with  the  music  of  the  men.  As  one  would 
tire,  her  place  would  be  taken  by  another  in  the 
room.  So  the  grinding  never  ceased  and  would 
not  till  the  sun  set.  The  faces  of  the  grinders  were 
half  hidden  by  the  veil  of  hair  that  hung  down 
before  them;  but  their  dress  of  many  colours,  their 
brown  arms  encircled  at  the  wrists  with  silver 
bracelets,  the  flash  of  shell  or  silver  necklaces 


1 50  A  GRINDING  SONG 

swinging  as  they  knelt  over  the  mealing  bins, 
made  an  animated  scene. 

As  for  the  music,  it,  too,  never  flagged.  The  air 
changed  from  time  to  time;  one  singer  or  another 
might  pause  to  puff  a  cigarette  or  drink  from  a 
gourd  of  water,  but  the  stream  of  the  music 
suffered  no  stoppage.  It  was  a  Zufii  grinding 
song — a  song  of  thanksgiving,  it  might  be,  or  an 
invocation  for  rain  and  good  crops — the  words 
of  which  had  come  down  from  father  to  son  for 
generations.  Sometimes  the  singers  turned  rever 
ent  faces  upward;  sometimes  they  lifted  their 
hands  as  in  supplication;  never  was  there  a  sign 
that  they  held  the  performance  as  otherwise  than 
of  the  most  solemn  import.  Indeed,  the  vim,  the 
precision,  the  religious  fervour  which  these  eight 
serious  men  put  into  the  music,  made  us  feel  that 
we  were  in  a  household  of  faith,  where  the  depend 
ence  of  humanity  was  realised  and  the  daily  gifts 
of  God  to  men  were  received  not  as  matters  of 
course  but  with  thankfulness  of  heart. 

It  was  heathendom's  testimony  to  the  power 
and  goodness  of  God,  and  we  felt  humbled  as  we 
stepped  into  the  air.  We  passed  one  of  the  Govern 
ment  teachers  on  the  way  to  her  Christian  home. 


A  GRINDING  SONG  151 

"Hello,"  she  remarked,  "been  visiting  the 
savages?  Find  'em  pretty  dirty,  don't  you?" 

Zuni's  prayers  are  breathed  to  little  bunches  of 
feathers,  set  in  the  earth,  or  deposited  by  certain 
sacred  springs,  which  are  peep-holes  of  the  gods  to 
keep  watchful  eyes  on  Zuni,  or  laid  in  the  recesses 
of  certain  stone  shrines  of  the  valleys  and  the  hills, 
one  of  which,  on  the  great  plain  just  outside  of  the 
pueblo,  marks  the  spot  known  in  Zuni  geography 
as  the  centre  of  the  earth.  We  used  sometimes  to 
see  men  walking  silently  from  one  house  to  another, 
carrying  in  their  blankets  wooden  boxes  with 
sliding  lids,  of  which  one  projecting  end  was  carved 
in  the  terraced  shape  that  symbolises  to  Zuni  the 
rain-cloud.  One  day  in  Dick's  house,  we  saw  one 
of  these  boxes  open,  out  of  which  our  dusky 
friend  was  solemnly  taking  feathers  of  various 
kinds — turkeys',  hawks',  and  bluebirds' — and 
making  them  up  into  prayer  plumes,  according  to  a 
strict  ritual — fastening  them  with  cotton  string  to 
short,  painted  sticks,  and  laying  them  in  a  cere 
monial  basket  by  his  side. 

"By  and  by,  do  you  say  prayers  to  them?"  we 
asked. 

Dick  nodded. 


152  A  GRINDING  SONG 

"What  do  you  pray  for?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  lain  to  fill  up  wells  and  make  plenty 
co'n  for  Zufii  man  and  white  man,  too,  so  ev'y- 
body  all  happy;  and  lots  chillen  for  ev'ybody; 
and  plenty  HI'  sheep  and  goat  and  HI'  cow" — a 
kindly  prayer,  we  thought,  which  in  its  inclusive- 
ness  put  us  to  shame,  who  had  not  always  been  so 
mindful  of  those  not  of  our  own  household. 

Later  in  the  day  we  saw  Dick  and  four  of  his 
clan,  their  red  blankets  wrapped  about  them,  and 
the  tips  of  prayer  plumes  peeping  from  the  folds, 
wending  their  way  in  single  file,  with  grave,  down 
cast  eyes,  out  to  the  plain  where  Zufii 's  sacred 
places  are;  and  a  little  prayer  was  born  in  our 
hearts  that  the  God  whom  these  children  of  His 
ignorantly  worshipped  would  incline  His  ear  to 
their  prayer,  now  and  for  evermore. 


$ 

C    ^j 

3    c 


i 


6 

II 


.~  &  -; 


Chapter  XVI 

Of  the  Nig'Ht  Dance  of  tKe  SHalaKo  Gods. 

THE  Shalako  festival  of  Zurii,  which  occurs 
every  year  near  the  end  of  November,  is  a 
remarkable  sacred  drama,  enacted  in  the 
open  for  the  double  purpose  of  invoking  the  divine 
blessing  upon  certain  newly-built  houses,  and  of 
rendering  to  the  gods  of  Zuni  thanks  for  the  har 
vests  of  the  year.  The  exact  date  of  the  coming 
of  the  Shalako  is  fixed  each  year  by  some  occult 
formula  of  the  Zuni  priests,  and  while  the  ap 
pointed  day  is  generally  known  several  weeks  in 
advance,  the  official  publication  of  it  is  not  made 
until  the  eighth  evening  before  the  event.  The 
immediate  effect  of  this  announcement,  which  is 
given  out  by  ten  masked  buffoons  in  the  principal 
plazas,  is  to  quicken  the  easy-going  life  of  the  old 
pueblo  into  a  bustle  of  industry.  The  labour  on 
the  new  houses,  which  has  dragged  along  half 
heartedly  for  weeks,  receives  a  fresh  impetus,  the 

153 


154          DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

women  putting  on  the  mud  plaster  with  rabbit- 
skin  mittens  as  the  men  lay  down  the  roofs. 
Daily  from  outlying  farming  villages  of  the  Zunis, 
country  waggons  arrive  laden  with  corn  in  the 
husk,  beans  in  the  pod,  and  little  round  water 
melons  all  white  within,  or  piled  high  with  trunks 
and  branches  of  pinon  and  cedar,  wherewith  to  set 
the  Shalako  hearths  ablazing. 

On  the  housetops  and  in  the  sunny  doorways  the 
huskers  go  merrily  on  with  their  husking,  cluttering 
the  narrow  streets  with  the  rustling  sheaths, 
which  crones,  too  old  for  heavier  labour,  gather  up 
in  blankets  and  carry  off  to  be  burned.  From  the 
ceilings  of  nearly  every  house  are  swinging  the 
fresh  carcasses  of  sheep  or  goats  or  cattle — the  wet 
skins  tacked  out  on  the  floor  to  dry — and  every 
where  as  you  thread  the  tortuous  alleys  of  the 
town,  the  air  is  sweetened  with  the  fragrance  of 
fresh-milled  corn  as  the  women  grind,  kneeling 
at  the  mealing  stones,  their  voices  the  while  lifted 
in  weird,  minor  songs,  keeping  time  with  the 
movement  of  their  bodies. 

At  the  little  adobe  store  which  Nick  conducts  in 
the  heart  of  Zufii,  the  ordinarily  sluggish  pulse  of 
trade  leaps  to  fever  temperature  in  the  last  days 


DANCE  OF  THE  SIIALAKO          155 

before  Shalako.  Men,  women,  and  children  crowd 
in  front  of  the  counter  behind  which  Nick,  his 
placid  full-moon  of  a  face  surmounted  with  a  flat- 
crowned,  broad-brimmed  hat,  set  well  down  over 
his  ears,  dispenses  sugar  and  coffee,  leather  gaunt 
lets,  checked  calico,  and  scarlet  blankets,  in  trade 
for  pinon  nuts,  sheepskins,  silver  bracelets,  hens' 
eggs,  and  wheat.  Nomad  Navajos  from  Gallup 
and  beyond  arrive  on  tough  little  ponies,  in 
companies  of  three  and  four,  bedecked  with  silver 
necklaces,  belts,  and  bangles,  which  they  are  ever 
ready  to  barter  away  to  trafficking  Zunis.  Then 
one  evening,  as  the  sun  drops  to  the  Arizona  line,  a 
bugle  sounds  upon  the  plain  and  a  troop  of  United 
States  cavalry,  in  command  of  a  pleasant-faced 
lieutenant,  rides  quietly  in  and  pitches  its  tents 
just  without  the  village. 

Shalako  being  a  night  ceremony,  we  might  as 
well  have  left  our  camera  at  home.  To  be  sure, 
we  had  hopes  of  snapping  the  God  of  the  Little 
Fire,  avant-courier  of  the  Shalako,  as  he  came  in 
from  the  plain  just  before  sundown  on  the  eventful 
day,  but  Five-Cent  Marmon,  the  teniente,  wise  in 
the  ways  of  the  white  man,  divined  the  intent  and 
enjoined  us  beforehand. 


1 56         DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

"Man,"  said  he,  with  an  eye  upon  a  suspicious 
bulge  of  one  of  my  coat  pockets,  "you  take 
pictu'?" 

We  assented. 

"You  no  take  pictu'  till  Shalako  gone,"  he 
dissented.  "You  sabe ?  I  say  so. " 

So  the  God  of  the  Little  Fire,  carrying  in  one 
hand  a  smouldering  torch  of  twisted  cedar  bark, 
his  bare,  painted  body  spotted  with  many-coloured 
sparkles,  and  his  head  eclipsed  within  a  hemi 
spherical  mask,  also  dotted,  that  rested  like  a  starry 
dome  upon  his  slender  shoulders,  came  and  went 
unpictured,  as  becomes  a  god. 

Before  him  walked  a  Zufii  priest  in  ceremonial 
dress,  a  great,  white  buckskin  slung  across  his 
shoulders,  a  bunch  of  rabbits  depending  from  his 
belt,  and  bearing  reverently  before  him  a  basket  of 
prayer  plumes,  upon  which  his  downcast  gaze 
rested.  It  was  our  old  friend  Dick  in  apotheosis. 
The  two  made  the  tour  of  the  village,  planting  the 
prayer  plumes  at  certain  appointed  places,  and 
followed  by  a  group  of  dancers  who  impersonated 
gods  of  the  Zufii  pantheon  and  wore  wonderful 
masks,  presenting  an  ensemble  of  superb  colour  as 
they  danced  and  chanted. 


DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO         157 

The  sight  of  these  strange  beings,  more  like 
denizens  of  another  world  than  of  this,  put  us  in  a 
fever  of  expectation,  and  we  impatiently  awaited 
the  darkness  under  whose  cover  the  Giant  Gods 
should  arrive. 

As  the  twilight  deepened  to  dusk,  slowly  moving 
groups  upon  the  plain  could  be  dimly  seen  ap 
proaching  Zuni  from  the  southern  hills,  stopping 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  river  that  flows  past  the 
pueblo.  Five-Cent  Marmon,  wrapped  to  the  eyes 
in  his  blanket,  strode  by  us. 

"Shalako  come,"  he  observed,  in  a  burst  of 
friendliness. 

But  not  till  darkness  had  completely  settled 
down — we,  meanwhile,  shivering  on  the  bank 
and  anathematising  Indian  deliberation — did  the 
groups  finally  cross  the  stream.  Then  they 
paused  in  a  hollow  of  the  bank,  the  Shalakos  kneel 
ing  while  the  attendants  gave  the  finishing  touches 
to  their  make-up. 

In  Zuni  mythology,  the  Shalako  Gods  are  the 
couriers  of  the  divine  rain-makers,  stationed  at 
each  quarter  of  the  compass,  which  in  Zuni  cos 
mography  has  six  points — North,  South,  East, 
West,  Zenith,  and  Nadir.  So  gigantic  in  stature 


1 58          DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

are  the  Shalakos  that  they  must  be  represented 
in  effigy — -astonishing  creatures,  ten  feet  or  so  in 
height,  with  staring,  painted  eyes,  horns  for  ears,  a 
horizontal,  wooden  snout  that  opens  and  shuts 
with  a  snap,  and  a  head-dress,  like  an  open  fan, 
of  upright  eagle  or  turkey  feathers.  From  the 
figure's  waist,  which  is  at  the  height  of  a  man's 
head,  swings  a  huge  hoopskirt  of  heavy,  white 
cotton  of  native  weaving,  ornamented  in  colour 
around  the  bottom  with  the  inverted  pyramids 
that  symbolise  rain-clouds.  Completely  hidden 
within  this  is  the  effigy's  motive  power,  a  Zufii 
man,  whose  moccasined  feet  are  seen  below  the 
skirts.  He  carries  the  effigy  by  means  of  a  pole, 
lodged  in  a  pocket  of  his  belt.  As  the  Shalako 
moves — teetering  along  like  a  superannuated 
dandy — it  utters  at  times  a  shrill  whistle  and  snaps 
the  jaws  of  its  snout  with  nerve-racking  violence. 
It  was  now  pitch  dark,  a  thin  layer  of  snow 
flaked  the  ground,  and  the  wintry  wind,  blowing  up 
from  the  icy  river,  chilled  the  marrow  of  our  bones. 
Now  and  again  the  Shalakos  would  make  as  though 
to  resume  their  progress,  only  to  settle  down  once 
more  to  an  interminable  wait.  Finally,  the  few 
white  spectators,  who,  with  ourselves,  were  watch- 


DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO          159 

ing  developments,  grew  tired,  and  at  seven  o'clock 
decided  to  go  indoors  somewhere  and  get  warm. 
As  for  us,  some  experience  with  red  human  nature 
had  taught  us  that  when  the  Caucasian's  patience 
with  Indian  ways  has  all  leaked  out,  something 
is  apt  to  happen.  So  we  decided  to  remain  a 
little  longer,  and  wrapping  our  blankets  closer 
about  us,  we  shrank  into  the  corner  of  an  old  corral 
a  few  rods  off,  that  shielded  us  from  the  wind,  and 
waited — and  waited — and  waited.  By  and  by, 
we  shifted  our  positions,  and  again  waited. 

And  now  there  is  a  stir  among  the  Shalakos,  and 
we  see  the  grotesque  heads  and  shoulders  rise  from 
the  ground  into  distinct  outline  against  the  starlit 
sky,  far  above  the  level  of  the  crowd  of  Zufii 
attendants.  With  a  commingled,  wheezy  whistl 
ing  and  snapping  of  snouts,  the  Giant  Gods  sway 
into  single  file;  suddenly  there  bursts  in  unison 
from  a  hundred  throats  a  majestic  chorus,  a 
simple  minor  theme  repeated  over  and  over,  fas 
cinating  and  soul-compelling  in  the  darkness;  and 
the  weird  procession  is  off  upon  its  march  about 
the  village. 

We  rush  beside  it,  breathless  and  excited,  and 
fall  into  step. 


160         DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

As  the  notes  of  the  solemn  chorus  penetrate  into 
the  dwellings,  the  doors  are  thrown  open,  emitting 
the  light  of  a  multitude  of  glowing  hearths,  and  the 
people  throng  out  upon  the  housetops  and  on  the 
streets,  watching  the  coming  of  the  long-expected 
divinities.  Many  from  the  houses  hurry  out  and 
swell  the  procession,  which  stops  at  each  new 
dwelling  where  the  ceremony  of  blessing  is  to  be 
performed,  and  there  leaves  a  Shalako.  Kneeling 
before  the  open  doorway,  the  gigantic  god  waits 
while,  to  the  chanting  of  the  chorus  and  the  contin 
ual  sprinkling  of  sacred  meal,  the  priests  plant  in 
front  of  the  steps  the  prayer-laden  bunches  of 
feathers  which  constitute  the  vehicles  of  the  Zunis' 
invocation  to  the  powers  above.  Then,  stooping, 
the  great  effigy  passes  in.  We  follow  and  find  a 
seat  to  our  great  content  near  the  fireplace,  where 
a  cedar  log  is  crackling. 

It  is  to  a  feast  of  fat  things  that  every  visitor  to 
a  Zufii  house  comes  on  the  night  of  the  Shalako — 
a  feast  that  is  the  full-blown  flower  of  Zufii  culinary 
art.  There  is,  for  instance,  meat-stew — mutton  or 
beef  or  rabbit — even  a  tasty  mess  of  mountain  rat, 
garnished  with  onions  and  chili  peppers;  there  is 
blue  wafer-bread  of  corn  and  grey  wafer-bread  of 


DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO         161 

beans;  there  are  wheaten  loaves  and  frijoles, 
roasted  pifion  nuts  and  watermelons,  none  the 
worse  to  aboriginal  taste  if  they  are  frosted;  and 
there  is  coffee  flowing  free  as  milk  in  Canaan.  For 
two  or  three  hours  the  feasting  is  kept  up,  until 
about  midnight  the  ceremonial  dances  begin. 
Beside  the  primitive  altar  which  is  erected  in 
the  room,  there  sits  a  choir  of  men,  who  supply 
the  music,  which  is  entirely  vocal,  except  for  the 
accompaniment  of  gourd  rattles  and  a  hollow- 
voiced  drum,  made,  in  the  orthodox  Zuni  way,  of 
a  huge  earthen  jar. 

The  spectators  throng  the  walls  of  the  long  room 
or  crowd  the  doors  and  windows  that  open  from 
the  inner  apartments  of  the  house — a  motley 
lot,  interesting  indeed,  under  the  flaring  lights. 
Predominant,  of  course,  are  the  Zufiis,  some  in  the 
picturesque  costume  of  their  fathers  from  head 
band  to  moccasins ;  others  in  the  nondescript  attire 
that  the  trader  sells  them — grey  sombreros,  blue 
overalls,  suspenders,  and  clumsy  brogans.  There 
is,  too,  a  sprinkling  of  other  Pueblo  people,  from 
Acoma  and  Laguna  or  even  the  distant  Hopi 
mesas.  Of  Navajos,  traditionary  enemies  of  Zuni, 
yet  never  debarred  from  the  hospitalities  of  Shal- 


XX 


162          DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

ako,  there  are  many — their  gaunt-visaged  women 
with  roly-poly,  uncomplaining  babies  by  their 
sides,  strapped  in  queer  little  rockerless  cradles f 
either  asleep  or  blinking  at  the  unaccustomed 
lights.  A  few  whites  are  looking  on,  too,  but  they 
soon  tire — employes  of  the  Government  agency 
and  schools,  a  surprised  tourist  or  two,  lured 
hither  perhaps  by  a  railroad  advertisement,  and  an 
occasional  hard-faced  trooper  of  the  lieutenant's 
squad.  Only  Mexicans,  of  all  the  world,  are  for 
bidden  to  view  the  Shalako,  and  no  word  of 
Spanish  is  permitted  to  be  spoken  during  the 
ceremonies.  The  dancers  come  and  go  in  bands, 
each  with  its  leader — one  set  appearing  from  the 
outer  darkness  as  another  departs  into  it. 

Hour  after  hour  until  dawn  streaks  the  sky 
beyond  the  eastern  mesa,  the  singing  and  the 
dancing  go  zealously  on,  and  lest  any  of  the 
spectators  should  so  far  forget  the  proprieties  of  a 
religious  occasion,  certain  of  the  dancers  carry  a 
yucca  switch,  sharper  than  birch,  which  they  lay 
lustily  upon  the  shoulders  of  any  tired  wight  who 
nods.  Now  and  then  the  Shalako  takes  the  floor, 
its  head  almost  touching  the  ceiling,  and  after  a 
few  conventional  rounds,  breaks  into  a  brisk  run 


DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO          163 

that  seems  aimed  to  annihilate  some  frightened 
onlooker  in  the  front  row,  but  with  surprising 
dexterity  the  huge  figure  whirls  about  in  the  nick  of 
time  and  drops  again  into  the  customary  shuffle. 
Now  and  again  there  is  a  pause  in  the  music  and 
the  dancers,  perspiring  at  every  pore,  retire  to  be 
replaced  by  a  fresh  band,  arriving  from  another 
house. 

Each  set  of  dancers  is  differently  attired,  and 
in  their  songs  and  accoutring  represent  diverse 
features  of  the  complex  Zuni  mythology,  that  only 
the  initiated  may  comprehend.  But  whatever  it 
may  mean  on  its  esoteric  side,  to  the  uninitiated 
the  spectacle  appeals  as  a  thing  of  marvellous 
beauty,  growing  more  beautiful  as  the  night  wears 
on.  The  intense  earnestness  of  the  dancers, 
trained  in  their  movements  to  act  as  one  man ;  the 
fineness  of  many  of  the  faces,  that  for  the  time 
being  are  lighted  with  the  glow  of  a  god-like 
enthusiasm ;  the  litheness  and  grace  of  the  more  or 
less  nude  figures,  painted  in  harmonious  hues,  and 
adorned  with  tinkling  ornaments  of  shell  and 
turquoise  and  silver,  and  the  native  loveliness  of 
the  furry  skins  of  wildcat  or  fox ;  the  music  of  the 
voices  sounding  in  unison,  now  fierce  and  fortis- 


164         DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

simo,  now  tender  and  low,  now  tempered  with 
almost  organ-like  majesty,  ever  varying  with  the 
sense  of  the  legendary  words  that  proceed  from  the 
lips  of  dancers  and  choir — all  this,  enacted  by  men 
who  render  it  as  a  free  service  to  the  Omnipotence 
that  rules  their  lives,  is  as  different  from  the  work 
of  players  acting  for  pay  as  light  is  from  darkness. 

The  beauty  of  the  make-up  of  these  dancers  is  a 
revelation  to  one  who  thinks  of  Indian  art  as  a 
hodge-podge  of  crudities  in  form,  and  of  glaring 
colours — of  anything  so  it  be  red  and  yellow !  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  Indians  as  a  race  have  a  true 
artistic  sense,  the  phenomena  of  nature  serving  as 
their  most  frequent  models ;  and  the  harmony  and 
balance  of  colour  evidenced  in  the  shifting  scenes 
of  the  Shalako  dancers  are  a  delight  to  the  most 
cultivated  eye — an  exhibition,  indeed,  that  would 
do  credit  to  any  metropolitan  stage — with  the 
added  fact  that  it  is  no  make-believe  but  the  real 
thing. 

The  last  song  had  been  sung,  the  last  dance  had 
been  danced,  and  the  Giant  Gods,  showered  with 
sacred  meal  from  the  surging  crowd,  filed  slowly 
away  under  the  risen  sun,  towards  the  gullied  mesa 
out  of  which  the  night  before  they  had  appeared. 


DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO          165 

Our  sleepy  eyes  followed  the  strange  procession  of 
swaying  figures  until  it  reached  the  foothills  where, 
breaking  into  a  run,  it  passed  from  view  to  re 
appear  in  a  year,  bringing  to  Zurii  renewed  assur 
ance  that  the  gods  of  the  harvest  and  the  rain  do 
not  forget.  Over  at  the  troopers'  camp  the  round 
up  for  departure  was  on  and  the  Government 
mules  were  lending  their  patient  backs  once  more 
to  the  pack-saddles;  the  visiting  Navajos  were 
bunching  together  and  striking  into  the  north 
trail  that  led  off  to  the  hogans  of  their  people;  the 
Zuni  folk  were  vanishing  into  their  houses  for  a 
nap ;  and  the  dance  of  the  Shalako  was  over. 

As  we  strolled  back  to  our  own  quarters  to  pack 
up  for  home,  we  marvelled  at  the  indifference  of 
our  countrymen  to  this  beautiful  religious  cere 
mony  of  a  race  who  antedate  us  as  Americans. 
People  travel  far  to  attend  the  Passion  Play,  or 
metropolitan  representations  of  the  Nibelungen 
Cycle,  or  Shakespearean  revivals — to  see,  indeed, 
any  sort  of  dramatic  make-believe,  if  it  be  well 
enough  staged ;  but  this  sacred  service  of  the  Zunis 
to  their  gods,  which  is  no  play,  though  performed 
with  dramatic  fervour  and  with  a  magnificent 
setting  that  symbolises  the  living  things  of  their 


166         DANCE  OF  THE  SHALAKO 

faith — to  this  service  of  life  only  an  occasional, 
stray  traveller  comes,  or  an  ethnological  student 
now  and  then  and  some  nomad  Indians. 

The  shadow  of  Five- Cent  Marmon  fell  across 
our  threshold  as  we  sat  thinking  it  over. 

"You  take  pictu'  now?"  he  observed;  "all  light, 
you  take  pictu'.  I  say  so.  Shalako  gone." 

But  the  teniente  was  outwitted.  Though  we  had 
obeyed  his  orders  and  pocketed  the  camera,  we 
had  none  the  less  secured  the  picture  of  Shalako, 
impressed  indelibly  upon  the  enduring  film  of 
memory. 


Chapter  XVII 

Of  the  Eight  Pueblos  of  Moqvai,  and  tKe  Way 
TKitHer. 

THE  Moquis ?  What  are  they  to  the  Hopis ? 
Oh  yes,  I  know,  the  Snake  Dance.  Some 
body  told  me  of  that.  And  Maria  went 
to  a  lecture  about  it  once.  Not  real  rattlesnakes? 
Oh  awful !  But  their  fangs  must  be  taken  out  first 
—of  course.  And  we  sewed  for  them  one  winter 
in  our  King's  Daughters,  and  sent  them  a  box  of 
nice  flannel  shirts,  poor  things.  Oh,  not  for  the 
snakes,  you  ridiculous  thing,  for  the  people !  Yes, 
I  really  know  a  great  deal  about  them.  How  dread 
ful  for  them  to  live  way  out  in  Arizona !  And  now 
do  tell  me  about  the  cotillion  last  night;  I  heard, " 
etc. 

"The  Moquis?  Where  have  I  heard  of  them? 
They  're  Dakota  Indians,  are  n't  they?  Arizona? 
Oh,  yes,  that 's  so,  I  remember.  A  fellow  wanted 
me  once  to  take  a  trip  to  see  them,  when  we  were 

167 


168  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

on  our  way  to  California.  He  said  they  beat  the 
band  for  picturesqueness  and  all  that — but  Great 
Scott !  it  takes  two  days  by  waggon  across  a  desert 
to  get  to  them  and  carry  your  own  booze.  So  I 
said:  'Not  on  your  life,  my  boy — this  train  suits 
me!  You  go,  if  you  want  to,  and  tell  me  the 
features  when  we  meet  again. '  I  have  n't  heard 
of  him  since,  so  maybe  he  got  scalped.  Anyhow, 
it  seemed  a  fool  trip  to  me.  How  's  the  fishing  at 
Catalina  nowadays?  " 

This  is  what  you  get  when  you  try  to  interest 
the  average  citizen  of  the  United  States  in  the 
case  of  the  eight  pueblos  of  Moqui.  Shall  I  gain 
any  more  attention  by  writing  it  out  on  paper? 
Perhaps  not.  Nevertheless  I  shall  try.  At  least 
I  shall  not  be  interrupted  till  I  am  through  with 
the  story  I  have  to  tell. 

Northward  a  hundred  miles  or  so  from  the  rail 
road,  beyond  the  muddy  flow  of  the  Rio  Colorado 
Chiquito,  beyond  the  mirages  and  sand-storms, 
the  unutterable  droughts,  and  the  summer  cloud 
bursts  of  the  Painted  Desert  of  Arizona,  are  the 
eight  pueblos  known  collectively  as  Moqui  and 
individually  by  names  of  such  rare  difficulty  to 


I 

I 

I 

o 

TI 
M 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  169 

pronounce  that  I  shall  disturb  you  with  them  as 
little  as  possible.  This  Moqui  is  the  region  which 
the  ancient  Conquistador es  called  the  Province  of 
Tusayan.  Coronado,  resting  on  his  arms  after 
the  conquest  of  Zuni  in  1540,  heard  of  it  and  sent 
one  of  his  lieutenants  with  half  a  dozen  musketeers 
up  from  Zuni  to  ascertain  what  it  was  like.  This 
lieutenant's  name  was  Pedro  de  Tobar,  or  Tovar, 
and  he  enjoys  a  twentieth-century  fame,  having  a 
great  hotel  named  for  him  a  hundred  miles  from 
Moqui  on  the  rim  of  the  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Colorado  in  Arizona. 

Little  cities  of  stone,  built  fortress-like  upon  the 
apexes  and  dizzy  edges  of  four  lofty,  rocky  promon 
tories  that  jut  out  into  the  desert,  and  housing  a 
population  of  some  two  thousand  Pueblo  Indians, 
the  pueblos  of  Moqui  have  a  sublime  outlook, 
without  parallel  in  America  or  probably  in  the 
world,  upon  desert,  sky,  and  distant  mountains. 
Silence  and  sunlight  by  day,  starlight  and  silence 
by  night,  and  always  the  desert's  own  peculiar 
mystery,  envelope  this  land  of  Moqui,  where  no 
man — except  he  be  an  American  office-holder — can 
live  for  a  day  without  being  sensible  of  his  individ 
ual  insignificance  in  the  make-up  of  the  universe, 


170  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

Hither,  long  centuries  ago,  came  the  ancestors 
of  the  present  dwellers  in  Moqui,  after  movings 
whose  course  is  fairly  well  marked  to  this  day  by 
ruins  of  prehistoric  towns  scattered  along  the 
valley  of  the  Little  Colorado,  in  the  canons  of  the 
White  Mountains  of  Arizona,  and  among  the  Mo- 
gollones.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that 
they  came  seeking  in  this  desert  fastness  an  asylum 
from  war  and  the  depredations  of  their  enemies. 
For  the  Lord  of  Life,  it  seems,  had  implanted  in 
the  hearts  of  these  red  children  of  His,  not  a  spirit 
of  unrest,  rapine,  and  war — qualities  which  our 
superior  civilisation  invariably  associates  with  the 
unreconstructed  red  man, — but  the  love  of  peace, 
of  home,  and  of  tilling  the  ground.  Indeed,  they 
called  themselves,  and  still  do,  Hopi, '  meaning 
"the  Peaceful";  and  because  their  settled  abodes 
and  ordered  lives  of  industry  as  agriculturists  and 
artsmen  enabled  them  to  gather  to  themselves 
property  which  excited  the  cupidity  of  warlike 
nomads  of  the  South-West,  such  as  the  Utes,  the 

1  They  are  also  quite  generally  called  Moquis  (or  Mokis) ; 
but  this  is  really  a  term  of  contempt,  as  Dago  for  an  Italian  or 
Mick  for  an  Irishman.  In  this  book  the  word  "  Moqui"  is  used 
in  its  geographic  sense,  meaning  the  locality  in  which  the  Hopis 
live. 


Chief  Snake  Priest  of  Walpi,  hoeing  his  corn  two  or  three  days 
after  the  Snake  Dance.  Note  how  short  the  stalks  are,  yet 
they  are  full  grown.  The  man  is  but  five  feet  high. 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  171 

Apaches,  and  the  Navajos,  their  fields  and  terraced 
towns  would  appear  to  have  been  the  object  of 
attack  and  spoliation  by  these  enemies.  Then,  to 
escape  the  ceaseless  harrying  of  marauders,  came 
the  flight  of  the  Hopis  to  the  desert,  taking  to  them 
selves  the  barren  waste  as  an  ally  and  establishing 
themselves  where  the  hardship  of  getting  at  them 
would  minimise  the  liability  to  invasion. 

So  the  pueblos  of  Moqui  came  to  be — no  man 
can  say  when,  but  certainly  before  the  coming  of 
the  sixteenth-century  Spaniards;  and  to  reach 
them  across  the  long,  sun-scorched,  waterless 
leagues  was,  in  old  Spanish  parlance,  literally  una 
Jornada  de  muerte — a  journey  of  death.  Here  in 
Moqui,  the  Hopis  planted  their  corn  of  many 
colours  and  set  up  altars  and  shrines  that  stand  to 
this  present  day ;  and  with  invocations  and  thanks 
giving  to  the  red  gods  that  had  brought  their 
fathers  up  from  the  darkness  of  the  underworld  to 
this  world  of  light,  they  wrestled  unceasingly  with 
the  desert  for  a  living — and  won. 

In  a  land  where  the  annual  rainfall  is  but  a  few 
inches,  and  that  confined  principally  to  two  sum 
mer  months,  and  where  the  sandy  ground,  shifting 
continually  before  the  wind,  is  almost  as  unstable 


1 72  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

as  the  waves  of  the  sea,  this  untutored  race  has 
scored  over  adverse  nature  a  victory  which  wins 
the  admiration  of  every  serious-minded  person, 
scientist  or  layman,  who  visits  Moqui.  The  Hopis 
have  searched  out  every  spot  in  the  desert  within 
a  score  of  miles,  where  moisture  lingers  long  enough 
to  mature  a  crop  of  corn  or  beans  or  melons,  and 
industriously  cultivate  it  and  protect  it  from 
burial  by  shifting  sands  from  seed-time  to  harvest. 
Of  the  desert's  resources  practically  nothing  es 
capes  them.  Of  its  rocks  and  stones  they  have 
fashioned  implements  and  built  stable  towns;  of 
the  fibres  of  its  plants  and  the  skins  of  its  animals 
they  have  made  clothing;  of  its  clay  they  have 
moulded  serviceable  and  beautiful  pottery;  of  its 
grasses  they  have  woven  baskets  of  superior  weave 
and  design;  upon  its  bitter  shrubs  they  pasture 
their  flocks;  certain  saponaceous  roots  provide 
them  with  soap,  and  many  herbs  contribute  to 
their  vegetable  dieting.  In  fact,  their  knowledge 
of  the  desert  plant  life  is  little  short  of  marvellous. 
Out  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  known  species  of 
plants  growing  wild  in  Moqui — a  white  farmer 
would  call  them  all  weeds — the  Hopis  have  found 
use,  it  is  said,  for  about  a  hundred  and  forty.  From 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  173 

the  Spaniards,  who  sought  to  Christianise  them, 
but  whose  iron  rule  only  succeeded  in  driving  these 
Quakerly-disposed  Indians  to  such  desperation 
that  they  finally  threw  the  priests  over  the  cliffs 
and  demolished  the  church,  taking  its  beams  for 
roofing  their  own  pagan  fanes — from  the  Span 
iards  they  got  enrichment  of  their  lot  in  the  shape 
of  horses,  burros,  sheep,  iron  implements,  and 
peach  trees.  The  peach  orchards  are  to-day  a 
special  feature  in  the  environs  of  every  Hopi  town, 
the  deep  green  of  the  foliage,  billowing  the  yellow 
sands,  being  visible  to  the  traveller  as  he  ap 
proaches  long  before  the  town  itself  is  distinguish 
able  from  the  rock  upon  which  it  is  founded. 

The  nearest  railroad  to  Moqui  is  the  Santa  Fe's 
transcontinental  line,  and  the  pueblos  lie  seventy- 
five  to  a  hundred  miles  north  of  it.  To  them  are 
four  principal  waggon  routes,  and  unless  you  are 
used  to  desert  travel,  whichever  one  you  take, 
you  will  likely  wish  you  had  chosen  another;  for, 
at  the  best,  the  trip  is  a  hard  one.  You  may,  first 
of  all,  set  out  for  Moqui  from  Canon  Diablo,  a 
flag-station  where  a  lone  trading-post  has  been 
established  for  many  years;  amply  capable,  how 
ever,  of  fitting  you  out  in  thorough  style.  This 


174  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

way  is  the  shortest  to  Oraibi,  the  westernmost 
pueblo.  Then  there  is  the  route  from  Winslow. 
This  Arizona  town  has  the  advantage  of  superior 
hotel  accommodations;  so  from  there  you  may 
count  upon  starting  well-fed.  The  third  route, 
that  from  Holbrook,  a  smaller  place  thirty-three 
miles  east  of  Winslow,  is  a  direct  one  to  Walpi. 
Lastly,  there  is  the  Gallup  route,  the  longest  of  all, 
taking  from  three  to  three  and  a  half  days  as 
against  two  days  by  either  of  the  other  roads.  It 
it,  however,  the  pleasantest  from  the  standpoint 
of  comfort  and  general  interest,  with  a  minimum 
of  desert  to  cross  and  a  good  deal  of  pine  forest  to 
traverse.  The  latter  is  very  lovely,  especially  in 
the  autumn,  when  the  resplendent  foliage  of  small 
oaks  scattered  through  the  pines  fills  the  wood 
lands  with  a  glory  of  bright  colour. 

The  Gallup  road  also  crosses  a  considerable  part 
of  the  great  Navajo  Reservation,  affording  the 
traveller  a  good  opportunity  to  observe  this 
remarkable  tribe  at  close  range.  Both  the  Hol 
brook  and  Gallup  routes  present  one  important 
advantage  over  the  other  two  in  that  their  starting 
point  is  north  of  the  Little  Colorado  River,  the 
fording  of  which  is  thus  avoided.  This  is  an  im- 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  175 

portant  consideration  as,  in  time  of  rains,  the  river 
is  not  infrequently  flooded  and  impassable  for 
days.  As  both  Canon  Diablo  and  Winslow  lie 
south  of  the  Little  Colorado,  this  possibility  of  the 
risen  river's  causing  delay  is  to  be  reckoned  with 
from  those  points. 

It  was  with  the  view  of  including  the  world- 
famous  Snake  Dance  at  Walpi  that  we  timed  our 
expedition  to  the  Hopi  mesas  in  August.  One  of 
the  few  things  we  did  know  about  the  trip  before 
hand — and  this  was  confirmed  by  experience — 
was  that,  even  in  August,  we  should  not  encounter 
any  overwhelming  heat.  Everything  else,  how 
ever,  which  the  midsummer  elements  could  fur 
nish,  we  had  in  liberal  doses — including  wind  and 
cloudbursts,  radiant  sunshine  by  day  and  delicious 
nights  for  slumber. 

We  decided  upon  the  Gallup  route.  We  are 
not  of  the  robust  type  of  travellers,  and  previous 
experience  with  desert  and  Indians  had  taught  us 
our  physical  limitations.  We  accordingly  made 
careful  provision  in  advance  for  a  first-class  team 
and  competent  driver,  as  well  as  for  as  many 
comforts  as  could  be  packed  under  the  seats.  On 
two  nights  of  the  journey  we  knew  that  lodging  ac- 


1 76  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

commodations  could  be  had;  but  one  other  night 
must  be  spent  in  the  open ;  while,  as  to  Moqui,  we 
knew  not  how  we  should  be  housed  and  fed  there. 
So  we  included  in  our  impedimenta  two  folding 
cots;  two  down  quilts  folded  lengthwise  and 
turned  up  a  few  inches  at  the  side  and  bottom  and 
pinned  there  with  safety-pins,  making  sleeping- 
bags,  using  them  by  day  for  cushions  in  the  car 
riage;  a  telescope  satchel,  containing  needful 
changes  of  clothing;  and  a  box  of  such  provisions 
— delicacies  and  the  finer  grade  of  necessaries — 
as  we  should  not  likely  find  in  Indian  traders' 
stocks.  Furthermore,  to  relieve  the  minds  of 
anxious  friends,  we  carried  a  vial  of  permanga 
nate  of  potash  crystals,  for  use  in  case  of  getting 
bitten  at  the  Snake  Dance — a  very,  very  remote 
contingency. 

Though  one  may  travel  forty  miles  without 
sight  of  a  white  face,  there  are  no  dangers  on  a 
trip  of  this  kind  any  greater  than  would  be  met 
with  in  motoring  from  New  York  to  Boston.  The 
stock  bugaboos  of  the  tenderfoot,  such  as  venom 
ous  snakes,  Indians  on  the  war-path,  and  "bad 
men"  of  the  shilling  shocker  type,  are  negligible 
factors.  Our  frontier  West  develops  in  its  men, 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  177 

along  with  some  picturesque  vices,  a  broadness  of 
dealing,  combined  with  a  certain  chivalry  where 
women  are  concerned,  that  makes  it  the  safest 
of  regions  for  travellers  who  mind  their  own  busi 
ness,  and  if  these  do  not  put  on  airs  and  become 
condescending  or  instructive,  they  will  be  always 
in  the  hands  of  their  friends.  At  the  lonely  post 
of  the  white  trader  or  in  the  Navajo  hogan,  they 
are  welcome  without  charge  to  such  board  and 
lodging  as  the  place  affords.  As  one  hospitable 
Arizonian  put  it  to  us:  "Your  coin  don't  pass 
here,  brother;  it 's  hard  enough  to  have  to  travel 
this  country  without  paying  out  money." 

Nevertheless,  it  was  somewhat  of  a  strain  on  our 
faith  when  we  applied  at  the  livery  stable  at 
Gallup  for  the  team  we  had  arranged  for  some 
weeks  in  advance,  to  be  told  apologetically  by  the 
proprietor  that  the  experienced  man  whom  he  had 
counted  on  to  drive  us  had  sprained  his  arm,  and 
he  would  have  to  put  us  in  charge  of  his  only  other 
driver,  a  seventeen-year-old  boy,  who  had  never 
been  thirty  miles  from  home. 

"But  he'll  pick  up  the  way  all  right,"  he 
continued  comfortingly ;  ' '  you  see,  you  travel  most 
of  the  time  over  the  Navajo  Reservation  and  Bob 


178  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

talks  Navajo  with  a  regular  Parisian  accent.  Why, 
when  he  talks,  I  'm  here  to  tell  you  it  just  makes 
the  squaws  weep,  he  does  it  so  good:  so,  if  there  's 
ever  any  doubt  about  the  road,  he  can  ask  an 
Indian,  and  it 's  just  the  same  as  if  he  knew  the 
road  himself.  Accommodating?  Yes,  sir,  you 
bet;  he  '11  play  ball  all  right,  He  'd  better;  his 
job  depends  on  it.  He  's  over  to  Fort  Defiance  to 
day  with  a  party.  That  's  on  your  road,  and  he 
starts  back  in  the  morning.  So,  if  you  're  ready 
to  hit  the  trail  to-morrow,  I  '11  drive  you  out  and 
we  11  meet  him  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  out ;  then 
he  '11  turn  in  with  you,  and  I  will  bring  his  bunch 
of  people  on  into  Gallup.  He  '11  deliver  the  goods, 
all  right — don't  you  worry." 

As  there  was  no  alternative,  we  did  not  worry, 
though  there  seemed  some  cause  for  solicitude  in 
being  put  in  the  care  of  a  stripling  on  a  two  hundred 
and  fifty  mile  trip  through  a  wilderness  that  was  as 
unknown  to  him  as  to  ourselves;  and  the  next 
morning  found  us  early  on  the  road. 

Bob,  when  we  met  him,  proved  to  be  a  tall 
youth  with  a  serious  countenance,  an  olive  com 
plexion,  and  calf-like  eyes.  He  wore  a  hat  with 
the  crown  pinched  up  into  an  elevated  peak,  blue 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  179 

jumper  and  overalls,  and  long-legged,  yellow  boots. 
He  listened  without  comment  as  his  employer 
delivered  him  his  orders. 

"This  lady  and  gentleman  are  going  up  to  the 
Moqui  country  and  will  be  gone  three  or  four 
weeks.  You  are  to  take  them.  Here  's  twenty 
dollars  for  the  expenses  of  the  team,  and  if  you 
need  any  more,  ask  the  gentleman  for  it.  If  you 
kill  one  of  the  horses,  buy  another,  and  if  you  need 
to  pay  any  cash  down,  he  '11  give  you  a  bunch  of 
money.  And  here  's  your  war-bag"  (holding  up  to 
view  a  small  telescope  some  eighteen  inches  long) . 
"Your  mother  packed  it  for  you.  There's  a 
couple  o'  pair  o'  socks  and  a  bunch  of  cigarette 
papers  in  it ;  that  will  keep  you  for  a  month.  Now, 
you  get  aboard  here,  and  adios  everybody." 

So,  without  more  formality,  the  transfer  of  Bob 
was  effected,  and  we  drove  off  over  a  pifion  ridge 
and  down  into  a  wide,  solitary  waste  of  sagebrush, 
where  all  the  world  was  as  new  and  fresh  to  us  as 
to  our  first  parents  when  they  stepped  forth  into 
the  great  world  without  Eden. 

It  was  through  a  country  of  wild  beauty — that 
three  days'  trip.  Every  day  our  Jehu  lost  the 
way;  but,  through  the  goodness  of  Providence  that 


1 8o  MOQUI  PUEBLOS 

watches  over  infants,  found  it  again;  every  day 
were  hard  thunder-showers  of  an  hour  or  two, 
succeeded  by  a  radiant  glory  of  clearing;  and  every 
day  there  were  such  bursts  of  sunshine  out  of  a 
turquoise  sky,  where  huge,  cumulus  clouds  gath 
ered  and  moved  in  stately  procession,  as  only  the 
South- West  knows.  Wild  flowers  bloomed  on  every 
hand — tangles  of  yellow  sunflowers  and  forests  of 
purple  cleome,  sometimes  as  high  as  the  horses' 
heads;  and  always  ahead  of  us  long,  flat-topped 
mesas,  bathed  in  soft  tones  of  pink  and  mauve  and 
amethyst,   stretched   themselves   into  the  plain, 
beckoning  us  on.     Hills  of  mystery,  they  seemed 
like  the  ramparts  of  some  heavenly  city  let  down 
into  this  world  of  sense,  awakening  in  us,  far  from 
all  things,  the  hope  of  all  things.     No  wonder  the 
old  Conquistador es  kept  striving  towards  them! 
There  is  that  in  the  alluring,  warm-toned,  canon- 
gashed  steeps  that  makes  the  presence  of  a  pot  of 
gold  there  or  a  pocket  of  precious  stones  seem  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world.     Of  human  life, 
there  were   only   occasional   Navajos,   men   and 
women,    always    ahorseback    and    often    driving 
before  them  great  bands  of  sheep.     Bob  never 
missed  the  opportunity  of  intimate  conversation 


MOQUI  PUEBLOS  181 

with  them  to  assure  himself  of  the  road  and  the 
location  of  water  for  his  team.  For  ourselves,  we 
had  in  the  carriage  two  canteens  fresh-filled  every 
morning.  And,  by  and  by,  we  came  out  of  this 
semi-desert  upon  pure  desert  and  caught  our  first 
sight  of  Moqui — the  pueblo  of  Walpi,  perched 
upon  a  lofty,  outstretched  promontory,  silhouetted 
against  a  streak  of  light  in  the  western  sky,  the 
long  streamers  of  the  rain  descending  waveringly 
out  of  black  clouds  upon  the  town. 


Chapter  XVIII 

Of  the  Life  in  Moqui ;   and  a  Hint  of  its  Latter 
Day  Trembles. 

A"  the  foot  of  Walpi's  steep  is  a  scattering  of 
houses — the  Government  school,  the  field 
matron's,  the  doctor's,  and  a  few  that 
Indians  dwell  in.  In  one  a  Hopi  trader  keeps  a 
little  store.  To  Americans  his  name  is  Tom,  and 
him  we  had  been  instructed  to  find  and  consult  as 
to  our  lodging  while  in  Moqui.  As  we  drew  up 
before  the  store,  an  Indian  came  briskly  forth  to 
greet  us, — a  small  man  with  a  pleasant  smile,  jet 
black  hair  cut  square  at  the  neck,  and  a  clean, 
white  shirt  that  bellied  picturesquely  in  the  breeze. 
No,  he  was  not  Tom, — he  was  Tom's  bruzzer'n 
law,  Percy,  and  yes,  he  sought  mebbe  he  knew 
about  some  house  if  we  wanted  to  hire  one  till  after 
Snake  Dance;  mebbe  his  sister  Mary,  Snake 
Priest's  wife,  she  would  hire  hers, — it  was  just 
bow-shot  away, — and  she  would  go  up  to  the 
mesa  and  stay ;  he  would  spoke  to  her. 

182 


X  ,"- 


A  Hopi  potter  preparing  to  fire  pottery  bowls.  Her  home  is 
on  the  distant  mesa  top,  but  she  has  come  down  here 
because  a  nearby  corral  affords  abundant  fuel  of  dried 
sheep  manure. 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI  183 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  the  course  of  an 
hour,  we  found  ourselves,  for  a  consideration  of  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  week,  sole  tenants  of  a  tight- 
roofed,  one-roomed,  stone  house  with  a  little, 
walled  front-yard,  and  a  glorious  view  eastward 
across  the  yellow  desert  to  pink  and  purple  moun 
tains.  Here  and  there,  amid  the  sands,  were 
green  patches  of  growing  corn,  beans,  and  melons, 
and  far  away  in  the  sunshine  an  Indian  was  riding, 
warbling  a  Hopi  yodel  as  he  rode.  An  old  man, 
naked  to  his  breech  clout  this  August  day,  was 
singing,  too,  and  driving  two  dun  pack-burros 
afield,  to  whose  sober  coats  a  touch  of  vivacity 
was  given  by  red  saddle-blankets.  Children  were 
tumbling  and  romping  in  the  dunes,  where  wild 
flowers  bloomed,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  the 
music  of  their  laughter.  The  natural  life  of  the 
Pueblo  is  happy  and  gay  in  his  sunlit  land.  I  want 
to  tell  you  this  before  the  Government  has  civilised 
the  joy  of  his  native  life  out  of  him. 

All  Moqui,  like  omnia  Gallia,  is  divided  geo 
graphically  into  three  parts — three  finger-like  me 
sas  which  extend  out  into  the  Painted  Desert,  the 
tips  approximately  ten  miles  each  from  the  other. 
Upon  the  eastern  or  First  Mesa,  stand  three  of  the 


1 84  LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI 

pueblos  in  a  line — Walpi,  Sichomovi,  and  Tewa, 
so  close  together  that  they  really  are  like  one  long, 
rambling  village.  Nevertheless,  they  preserve 
their  respective  individualities  even  to  the  extent 
of  one  employing  a  radically  different  language 
from  the  others.  The  Second  or  Middle  Mesa  is 
forked  at  the  tip  and  upon  it  are  three  more 
villages.  On  one  prong  of  the  fork  are  perched 
Mishong-novi  and  the  acropolis-like  Shipau-lovi, 
while  on  the  other  prong  is  Shimopovi.  I  wish 
the  names  were  less  formidable-looking  in  print, 
but  they  are  not  unmusical  from  Hopi  lips.  The 
Third  Mesa  was,  until  recently,  the  site  of  but  one 
pueblo — Oraibi,  the  largest  of  all  in  Moqui ;  but  a 
new  one,  Hotavila,  now  shares  the  Mesa  with  it. 
Then  there  is  a  farming  colony  of  Oraibians,  known 
as  Moenkopi,  twenty-five  miles  or  so  to  the  west 
ward  ;  but  it  is  not  customarily  reckoned  a  separate 
entity  from  Oraibi. 

In  all  eight  villages,  life  is  much  the  same,  though 
the  influence  of  white  contact  is  more  marked  in 
some  than  in  others.  Perhaps  Oraibi  and  Walpi 
have  been  most  affected  by  this — Shimopovi  the 
least  so,  and  our  visit  to  this  conservative  place 
was  delightful  in  proportion;  for  conservatism 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI  185 

means  having  a  mind  of  your  own  and  sticking  to 
it,  and  that  makes  people  interesting.  Shimopovi 
internally  is  full  of  quaint  bits  and  corners  dis 
tracting  to  an  artist,  and  at  the  time  of  our  visit, 
the  streets  were  clean  and  neat,  and  the  village 
was  the  home  of  as  peaceful  and  happy  a  primitive 
life  as  one  could  desire  to  see.  It  is,  of  course,  the 
happiness  of  the  unprogressive  and  condemnable 
accordingly,  you  will  say;  but  then  is  there  not 
apostolic  authority  for  abiding  in  the  same  calling 
wherein  one  is  called,  and  for  being,  in  whatsoever 
state  one  is,  therein  content?  All  doors  opened 
to  us  in  Shimopovi  and  a  smile  of  welcome  was  on 
every  face.  In  one  home,  a  mother  with  a  tiny 
baby  extends  it  for  our  inspection,  looking  at  it 
meantime  with  unspeakable  depths  of  mother  love 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  pats  the  little,  round  cheeks. 
In  another  home  a  family,  seated  on  the  floor  at 
dinner,  bids  us  enter  and  eat  stewed  mutton  and 
piki  bread  with  them,  and  receives  our  apologetic 
declination  with  pleasant  merriment.  Farther  on, 
three  old  women,  their  wrinkled  faces  tender  with 
grandmotherly  kindliness,  sit  weaving  the  peculiar 
basketry  for  which  the  Second  Mesa  is  famous — a 
weave  known  nowhere  else  on  this  continent, 


186  LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI 

though  practised  by  certain  tribes  of  Northern 
Africa.  Each  of  the  old  women  is  dressed  in  a 
single  garment  of  close- woven,  dark-blue  cloth,  the 
typical  squaw  dress  of  Moqui,  comfortable  and 
convenient  and  involving  none  of  the  continual 
care  which  their  sisters  over  at  Walpi  are  beginning 
to  learn  under  white  direction  goes  with  sundry 
curious  pieces  of  underwear. 

The  voices  of  the  old  dames  are  as  soft  as  music ; 
they  motion  us  to  be  seated,  supplying  us  with  the 
two  stools  that  their  little  room  affords,  and  then 
go  pleasantly  on  with  their  gossip  in  the  still, 
sunny  afternoon.  We  are  welcome  to  stay  as  long 
as  we  wish,  and,  when  we  leave,  a  smiling  Shimo- 
povi  au  revoir  is  chorused  to  us. 

Chief  among  Pueblos,  the  Hopis  appear  to  have 
been  deemed  especially  needful  of  an  all-round 
educational  uplift,  and  during  the  last  decade  or 
two,  they  have  certainly  had  an  old-fashioned, 
allopathic  dose  of  it.  What  with  day  schools, 
reservation  boarding-schools,  and  non-reservation 
boarding-schools,  all  having  their  turn  at  train 
ing  the  Hopi  young  idea — what  with  professional 
farmers,  field  matrons,  resident  agents  to  cut  Hopi 
hair,  and  what-not — the  reconstruction  of  Moqui 


A  corner  of  a  pueblo  of  the  Second  Mesa,  Moqui. 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI  187 

has  been  going  on  at  a  pace  that  would  be  found 
humorous  in  some  aspects,  if  it  did  not  spell  the 
speedy  death,  as  a  distinctive  class,  of  this  "little 
people  of  peace. " 

The  picturesque  and  healthful  costume  of  old 
Moqui  is  being  replaced  by  American  ugliness. 
Overalls,  suspenders,  ragged  coats,  and  more 
ragged  trousers,  clumsy  store  shoes,  hats  with 
hang-dog  brims  that  the  wind  delights  to  whirl  off, 
are  now  everyday  features  of  men's  attire  where, 
but  a  few  years  ago,  the  loose,  cotton  blouse  and 
wide,  flapping,  cotton  pantaloons,  deerskin  mocca 
sins  that  fit  the  rocky  trail  with  the  sureness  of  the 
foot  itself,  and  the  blanket  that  is  hat,  coat,  and 
gloves  in  one,  were  the  general  vogue.  As  for  the 
women,  the  sensible,  native- woven  " squaw-dress'* 
of  one  woollen  garment,  free  at  the  throat,  neat- 
belted  and  short-skirted,  is  being  systematically 
replaced  by  slovenly  shirt-waists,  bedraggled  long 
skirts,  and  conventional  undergarments  of  the 
white  woman — a  style  of  attire  which  is  well 
enough  in  a  land  where  the  Troy  Laundry  has  an 
agency  at  every  corner,  but  rather  out  of  key  in 
the  yellow  dust  of  an  unpaved  Arizona  desert,  with 
forty  miles  between  water-holes.  Open  fireplaces, 


188  LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI 

which  have  always  been  an  important  means  of 
ventilation  in  the  pueblo  rooms,  are  being  closed 
up  and  American  cook-stoves  are  being  everywhere 
set  up,  making  the  houses  unhealthy  and  tubercu 
losis-breeding,  and  encouraging  the  introduction 
of  American  forms  of  food  and  cooking,  distinctly 
unwholesome  to  a  people  always  accustomed  to  a 
plain  diet,  cooked  in  a  radically  different  way.  The 
people,  furthermore,  are  discouraged  from  living 
in  their  own  towns  on  the  breeze-swept  mesas,  and 
the  Government  has  erected  a  number  of  houses 
for  them  at  the  mesa-foot  in  the  sands  of  the 
desert  ( !) .  A  row  of  these,  which  we  visited  at 
Oraibi,  had  a  pathetic  interest  in  the  fact  that 
every  family  inhabiting  them  had  from  one  to 
many  members  sick.  The  good  sense  of  the  Hopis 
is  shown  by  the  fact  that,  whenever  possible,  they 
rent  such  houses  to  white  people  and  go  back  to 
the  old  towns  on  the  heights.  Last  but  not  least 
potent  in  the  reconstruction  of  Hopi  life,  is  the 
allotting  agent,  whose  business  is  to  apportion  to 
each  Indian  a  stated  amount  of  land  in  severalty, 
and  so  break  up  the  communal  owning  of  land — an 
unobjectionable  feature  of  Pueblo  life,  as  ingrained 
in  the  people  as  its  opposite  is  ingrained  in 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI  189 

us. x  When  he  gets  through,  there  will  probably  be 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  present  reservation  of 
Moqui  for  sale;  but  any  white  man  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  be  caught  owning  the  land  of  a  race 
who  have  gained  their  title  to  it  by  such  hard- 
earned  conquest  of  its  resources. 

Worse  than  all  this,  the  touch  of  aggressive 
white  domination  is  bringing  about  a  deterioration 
of  the  Hopi  spirit — the  old,  old  story  that  ever 
attends  Caucasian  meddling  in  the  native  life  of 
so-called  " inferior"  races — the  inoculation  of  a 
fine,  contented,  wholesome  people  with  the  virus 
of  "civilised"  vice,  unrest,  and  disease.  The 
practical  result  is  that  the  Hopis  are  developing 
into  a  body  of  parasites  instead  of  perpetuating 
the  sturdy  independence  of  a  people  whom  all 
travellers,  even  as  late  as  ten  years  ago,  spoke  of 
with  enthusiasm.  At  Oraibi,  particularly,  the 
evidences  of  white  influence  are  simply  sickening. 
Any  one  who  doubts  it  has  only  to  go  and  see  for 


1  Unlike  the  lands  of  the  New  Mexico  Pueblos,  which  were, 
all  or  in  part,  Spanish  grants  subsequently  confirmed  to  the 
Indians  by  United  States  patents,  the  Moqui  land  is  a  Govern 
ment  Reservation,  existing  by  executive  order,  and  accordingly 
liable  to  division,  alienation,  or  whatever  else  Congress  may 
dictate. 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI 


himself.     Seeing  is  a  better  basis  for  correct  infor 
mation  than  reading  Government  reports. 

From  the  first  appearance  of  the  Government 
teachers  among  them,  the  Hopi  counsellors  recog 
nised  the  "white  peril,"  and  the  people  protested 
against  it.  Why  should  they,  with  an  ancient 
culture  of  their  own,  sufficient  to  their  condition 
and  hallowed  to  them  by  a  thousand  memories  and 
traditions,  give  it  up  for  the  way  of  the  white  man 
with  his  record  of  broken  promises  and  duplicity? 
Asking  nothing  whatever  from  our  Government 
and  willing  to  work  and  pay  for  all  they  need,  what 
do  they  want  with  a  white  education  for  their  red 
children?  They  know  things  enough  already  of 
real  worth  to  put  their  teachers  to  shame  ;  but  they 
do  not  attempt  to  force  their  Indian  codes  upon 
the  whites  —  even  had  they  the  power,  they  would 
not  be  so  impertinent.  Why,  then,  should  they  be 
white-  jacketed?  But  the  benighted  views  of  this 
handful  of  Quaker  Indians,  of  course,  had  no 
standing  as  against  the  progressive  policies  of  an 
enlightened  Great  Republic  with  a  hungry  family 
of  place-hunters  and  land-seekers  to  be  cared  for 
out  of  the  public  providing.  So  at  the  present 
time,  most  of  the  Hopis  have  given  up  the  fight  and 


- 


A  blanket  weaver.     Second  Hopi  Mesa.     Among  the  Hopis,  the 
men  are  the  weavers — the  reverse  of  the  Navajo  custom. 


LIFE  TO-DAY  IN  MOQUI  191 

have  resigned  themselves  to  what  seems  to  be  the 
inevitable. 

Not  all  of  them,  however.  There  is  the  case  of 
Hotavila — the  eighth  pueblo  of  Moqui,  four  years 
old  this  year  of  grace  1911 — a  little  bit  of  an 
Indian  village  whose  less  than  a  hundred  families 
have  dared  to  try  to  live  independently  of  the 
dictation  of  our  Government  in  their  internal 
affairs,  even  as  our  own  fathers  aforetime  resented 
the  interference  of  certain  over-sea  kings  in  mat 
ters  too  intimate.  But  this  is  matter  for  another 
chapter. 


Chapter  XIX 

Of   Hotavila,    tKe    EigHtH    Pxxeblo    of    Moqvii,   and 
How  it  LooKed  BlacKly  at  vis. 

READING  your  evening  paper,  some  five 
years  ago,  in  your  smoking- jacket  and 
slippers,  you  may  have  noticed  a  despatch 
of  half  a  dozen  lines — your  Eastern  journal  would 
hardly  have  spared  it  more  space — about  a  Hopi 
uprising  in  Arizona,  and  the  soldiers  from  Fort 
Wingate  being  sent  to  quell  it.  That  is  what 
soldiers  are  for,  out  West,  so  you  probably  forgot 
all  about  the  incident  as  quickly  as  read,  and 
turned  to  the  more  important  matter  of  the 
divorce  scandal  elaborately  reported  on  the  same 
page. 

The  uprising  was  not  against  this  Government, 
but  was  a  family  revolution  among  the  Hopi  of 
Oraibi  pueblo  whom  the  Government's  educational 
policy  had  divided  into  two  factions.  One  party, 
popularly  known  as  the  "Friendlies,"  feeling  it 

192 


HOT  A  VILA  193 


useless  to  contend  against  the  power  of  Wash 
ington,  was  for  accepting  the  Government's 
plans  in  toto  and  grafter-like,  getting  anything 
else  it  could  for  itself  out  of  the  United  States. 
The  other  faction,  called  the  "Hostiles,"  was  for 
entire  independence  of  the  United  States  Govern 
ment,  wanting  no  favours  and  unwilling  to  accept 
any,  asking  only  the  reasonable  privilege  of  con 
tinuing  undisturbed  the  mode  of  life  their  fore 
fathers  had  found  good. 

The  crisis  came  on  September  7,  1906.  At 
that  time  the  population  of  Oraibi  was  in  round 
numbers  one  thousand  persons,  and  about  half 
the  families  were  enrolled  in  each  faction.  When 
the  break  came,  each  party  tried  to  oust  the  other 
from  the  pueblo,  not  with  weapons  or  military 
tactics,  but  by  the  homely,  old  way  of  pushing 
and  pulling,  catch-as-catch-can.  The  "Hostiles" 
were  worsted  and,  without  disputing  the  issue, 
proceeded  five  miles  along  the  high  wedge  of  land 
on  which  Oraibi  stands,  to  Hotavila  Spring, 
where,  in  the  succeeding  months,  they  built  for 
themselves  a  new  pueblo .  This  body  of  separatists , 
standing  for  the  principle  of  Hopi-land  for  the 
Hopis,  were  looked  upon  by  the  Indian  Bureau 
13 


194 


HOT  A  VILA 


as  disturbers  of  the  public  peace  and  promoters 
of  trouble  and  the  more  determined  among  them 
were  either  put  to  hard  labour  for  several  months 
on  the  public  roads  of  Arizona,  or  jailed  for  periods 
varying  from  a  few  months  to  three  years. J 

Here,  then,  was  something  new  in  pueblos,  and 
we  felt  a  keen  interest  to  see  this  little  cradle  of 
liberty.  Oraibi  was  prehistoric  in  1540;  the  vil 
lages  of  the  First  and  Second  Mesas,  too,  run  well 
back  in  the  centuries  and  look  it;  but  here  is  a 
chance  to  see  a  pueblo  only  just  out  of  its  long 
clothes.  But,  when  we  announced  our  intention 
of  making  the  trip  thither,  our  host  the  trader, 
an  Americanised  gentleman  of  Spanish  descent, 
married  to  a  California  Indian,  lifted  his  arms  in 
wonderment,  and  his  half -consumed  cigarette 
fell  from  his  paralysed  lips.  He  was  a  rotund, 
merry  man,  and  spoke  with  such  intensity  that 
the  perspiration  stood  out  in  beads  on  his  face. 

"Hombre!"  he  cried,  "and  take  the  lady!  Why  's 
the  reason  you  go  there?  It  's  just  a  wilderness, 

1  Since  the  foregoing  was  written, a  few  families  of  the  "Hostile '» 
party,  who  eventually  consented  to  send  their  children  to  school 
and  otherwise  submit  themselves  to  the  Government's  regula 
tions,  have  established  a  little  village  of  their  own,  called  Bacabi 
about  five  miles  north-east  of  Oraibi. 


HOT  A  VILA  195 


and  the  road  there,  my  dear  sir — it  is  desert, 
desert,  desert,  and  a  very  devil  of  a  hill,  deep 
to  the  hub  in  sand — and  then  more  desert,  and 
what  then?  Nothing,  my  dear  sir,  you  would 
not  see  better  right  here  at  Oraibi.  Oh,  yes,  they 
are  an  all  right  kind  of  people,  and  independent 
as  any  Americans  that  ever  were.  Why,  my 
dear  sir,  let  me  tell,  when  they  want  to  do  trading 
do  you  suppose  they  come  to  my  store  where  the 
other  Oraibis  trade?  No,  my  dear  sir,  you  bet! 
They  go  right  by  with  their  burros  and  straight 
on  seventy  miles  across  the  desert  to  Winslow, 
seventy  miles,  mind  you,  and  seventy  back! 
What  do  you  know  about  that  now,  my  dear  sir, 
for  spirit — and  in  an  Indian,  too!  Madre  de  Dios, 
it  *s  money  out  of  my  pocket  and  I  like  a  silver 
peso  as  well  as  the  next  man;  but — say — they  're 
the  stuff. 

"That  's  why  you  want  to  see  them?  Well, 
of  course,  that  's  different.  Oh,  you  can  't  miss 
the  road,  my  dear  sir.  It  runs  between  two  hills 
like,  and  you  could  n't  get  off  it  if  you  tried. 
If  you  must  spend  a  quarter,  I  '11  send  a  Moqui 
runner  along  to  start  you  right;  but  it's  just  giving 
the  money  away,  my  dear  sir,  just  giving  it  away." 


I96  HOT  A  VILA 


And  he  shook  his  head  bitterly  at  the  thought  of 
such  American  waste. 

We  had  travelled  enough  to  be  skeptical  of 
the  road  that  cannot  be  missed ;  so  we  bespoke  the 
Moqui  runner  for  sunrise  the  next  morning,  and 
when  we  got  him,  we  raised  his  wages  and  kept 
him  all  the  way  to  Hotavila  and  back  again. 
Never  was  money  better  invested;  for  the  road, 
so  called,  was,  in  many  places,  hardly  more  than 
a  faint  waggon-track  in  the  sand,  with  many  di 
vergencies  to  corn  lands  and  melon  patches;  and, 
moreover,  the  new  pueblo  was,  by  its  position, 
so  cleverly  hidden  from  the  direction  of  our  ap 
proach  to  it  that  we  had  no  hint  of  its  existence 
until  we  were  immediately  upon  it,  clinging  like 
a  swallow's  nest  to  the  mesa  edge,  overlooking 
the  Painted  Desert. 

If  this  little  adobe  town  were  a  ruin  like  a  bit 
of  ancient  Rome,  if  it  had  behind  it  some  heroic 
legend  as  of  another  Horatius  filled  with  the  love 
of  country  defending  with  his  life  the  birthright 
of  a  people  now  long  dead  and  buried,  I  suppose 
it  would  not  be  considered  sentimental  to  do 
reverence  to  the  spot,  or  unpatriotic  to  sympathise 
with  its  people's  stand  for  liberty.  But,  being 


HOT  A  VILA  197 


only  an  Indian  village  on  a  hot,  hot  hillside  in 
twentieth-century  Arizona,  the  case  is  essentially 
different,  is  it  not? 

For  almost  the  first  time  in  a  long  acquaintance 
with  Pueblos,  we  found  ourselves  distinctly  unwel 
come  visitors.  Frightened  women  gathered  their 
children  into  the  houses  at  the  sight  of  our  white 
faces;  a  few  men,  with  averted  looks,  strode 
past  us  on  their  way  to  cultivate  their  crops  of 
beans,  corn,  and  melons,  which  we  had  seen 
growing  on  the  mesa;  others  watched  us  suspi 
ciously  from  the  shadow  of  doorways  and  street 
corners.  It  goes  against  the  grain,  however, 
with  the  Pueblo  Indian  to  be  inhospitable;  he  is 
by  nature  a  sociable,  happy-hearted  being,  and 
though  tenacious  of  his  own  ways,  he  likes  to  make 
strangers  welcome  in  his  home.  So,  as  the  day 
wore  on,  and  we  neither  attempted  to  kidnap 
children  nor  to  open  negotiations  for  a  day  school, 
the  atmosphere  cleared.  We  had  shells  and  candy, 
coloured  magazine  pictures  and  tobacco,  and  as 
we  were  neither  insistent  nor  aggressive  nor  flip 
pant,  and  remained  contentedly  in  the  streets 
while  closed  doors  confronted  us,  smiles  by  degrees 
took  the  place  of  scowls  and  considerable  interest 


I98  HOT  A  VILA 


centred  in  us  as  bearers  of  such  delectable  pre 
sents  and  probable  buyers  of  the  flat  baskets 
in  the  making  of  which  the  Third  Mesa  women 
have  long  been  specialists.  So,  after  all,  we  had 
a  happy  day  at  Hotavila,  and  drove  off,  at  last, 
with  many  pleasant  memories. 

But  we  could  not  forget  the  black  looks  of  the 
first  hour  or  two,  and,  stopping  shortly  afterwards 
at  the  pleasant  home  of  the  Government  Field 
Matron  below  Oraibi,  we  asked  to  know  something 
further  concerning  the  relations  of  the  whites  to 
the  separation  of  the  two  factions  at  Oraibi.  She 
was  glad  of  our  interest — a  sweet -faced  woman, 
dwelling  in  the  neatest  and  cleanest  of  houses, 
which,  if  an  Indian  were  to  be  moved  by  ex 
ample,  would  surely  have  been  an  irreproachable 
object-lesson  of  American  household  ideals.  She 
offered  us  comfortable  rocking-chairs  and  brought 
a  pitcher  of  cool  water,  and  as  we  sat  on  the  shady 
porch  with  the  pleasant  rustle  of  cottonwood 
leaves  in  our  ears,  and  looking  up  at  the  grey, 
old  pueblo  on  its  sunny  heights  far  above  us? 
she  answered  our  questions  in  her  soft -toned  voice. 

"I  certainly  am  glad  you  got  over  to  Hotavila. 
They  are  nice  people  over  there.  In  fact,  all 


3P 

J*.; 


A       *£;, 

.••••- 


A  Beau  Brummel  of  Hotaville. 


HOT  A  VILA  199 


these  Indians  are  nice.  I  am  very  fond  of  them. 
I  was  really  sorry  when  they  had  to  separate. 
But,  after  all,  it  was  better.  You  see  those  people 
over  at  Hotavila  are  very  obstinate  and  won't 
let  us  do  a  thing  for  them.  They  keep  saying 
that  they  do  not  want  any  help;  but  really,  you 
know,  they  ought  to  have  it.  The  Commissioner 
says  it  is  due  to  the  Indian  children  to  have  the 
same  chance  as  the  white  children  have;  and  I 
think  the  Government  ought  to  make  the  people 
take  what  is  best  for  them.  You  see,  they  don't 
like  the  white  people  at  all,  though  I  can't  see 
why,  when  we  want  to  uplift  them  and  do  the  best 
for  their  own  welfare. 

"The  great  trouble  came  after  the  separation, 
when  the  troops  were  sent  over  to  make  the  children 
go  to  school.  The  Hostiles,  as  they  call  them,  had 
just  been  put  out  of  the  old  village,  which  had 
always  been  their  home,  and  had  started  in  to  live 
at  this  new  place,  and  they  had  not  more  than  got 
it  under  way  when  it  was  decided  by  the  Washing 
ton  authorities  to  send  some  of  the  men  to  prison 
and  put  most  of  the  rest  to  hard  labour  on  the 
roads  over  beyond  Ream's  Canon,  because  of 
their  rebelliousness.  That  left  hardly  anybody 


200  HOT  A  VILA 


but  women  and  children  in  the  new  village,  and 
it  was  hard  enough  times  for  them  to  get  along, 
with  winter  coming  on  soon;  but,  about  that 
time,  as  the  women  would  not  put  the  children 
to  school,  as,  of  course,  they  should  have  done, 
the  troops  were  sent  to  bring  them  by  force.  I 
had  to  go  and  help  the  soldiers,  as  I  knew  all 
the  people,  and  it  was  about  as  disagreeable  a 
piece  of  work  as  ever  I  had  to  do.  The  mothers 
were  perfectly  frantic.  They  hid  the  babies  and 
children  in  inside  rooms  and  under  flour  sacks  and 
beneath  beds,  and  shook  their  fists  in  my  face, 
actually,  and  told  me  they  had  thought  I  was 
their  friend,  but  that  I  was  nothing  but  a  traitor, 
and  held  on  to  the  children  until  the  soldiers 
had  to  pull  them  away.  Of  course,  poor  things, 
they  did  not  know  where  they  were  going,  and 
they  certainly  do  love  their  children.  It  did  seem 
too  bad." 

There  was  a  soft  cry  in  the  house.  The  Field 
Matron  excused  herself  and  went  in.  Presently 
she  came  out  holding  in  her  arms  a  beautiful 
baby  of,  perhaps,  a  year  old.  The  tiny  arms 
clasped  her  neck,  the  little  head,  with  its  loose 
curls,  lay  on  her  shoulder  in  satisfied  content. 


HOT  A  VILA  201 


One  motherly  arm  held  him  firmly,  and  with  the 
other  she  stroked  the  child's  head,  as  she  said: 

"Must  you  go?  Well,  come  again  before  you 
leave  these  parts.  It  is  real  pleasant  to  see  some 
new  white  faces  now  and  then." 

We  understood  better  now  the  black  looks  at 
Hotavila. 

The  white  visitor  to  Moqui  is  quite  at  liberty, 
if  he  so  desire,  to  drive  his  panting  team  up  the 
interminable,  sandy  hill  to  Hotavila,  and  walk 
about  the  neat  streets  of  this  little  pueblo  of 
independence,  the  last  stand  of  conservative 
Moqui,  still  looking  off  upon  the  immemorial 
mystery  of  the  Painted  Desert  out  of  which,  ages 
ago,  the  fathers  of  the  Hopis  came;  but  he  must 
not  be  surprised  if  he  meets  with  sullen  looks  from 
barred  doorways  and  if  women  hide  their  babies 
away  as  he  passes.  And  it  is  a  trip  well  worth 
the  taking;  for  here  at  Hotavila,  and  only  less 
so  at  the  neighbouring  pueblo  of  Shimopovi, 
its  close  second  in  conservativeness,  one  sees  the 
best  of  Hopi  life  to-day.  The  peaceful,  happy 
simplicity  of  their  ancient  way  of  living,  poor 
in  material  advantages  though  it  be,  makes  a 
remarkable  contrast  to  the  conditions  at  some  of 


202  HOT  A  VILA 


the  other  villages  where  Government  influence 
has  undisputed  sway — as,  for  instance,  in  the 
Government's  "model  settlement"  under  the 
Oraibi  cliffs,  where  the  unrest,  sickness,  aimlessness 
of  purpose,  and  general  misery  which  were  pain 
fully  apparent  among  its  people  when  the  writer 
visited  it,  were  more  suggestive  of  the  slums  of  a 
great  city  than  anything  that  seemed  possible  in 
the  sweet  air  and  under  the  turquoise  sky  of 
Arizona. 


CKapter  XX 

Of  Wulpi,  and  the  SnuKe  Dance  TKere. 

WERE  it  not  for  the  annual  Snake  Dance 
of  the  Hopis,  it  is  probable  that  few 
travellers  except  those  of  the  fireside 
would  have  any  knowledge  of  these  people.  As 
it  is,  the  Snake  Dance  has  been  so  industriously 
written  up  and  talked  over  that  it  has  become  a 
magnet  which,  every  August,  draws  more  or  less  of 
a  crowd  of  tourists  and  holiday-makers  across 
the  desert  sands  to  witness  this  most  entrancing 
and  most  dramatic  half -hour  entertainment  that 
America  has  to  offer.  I  use  the  word  "enter 
tainment"  hesitatingly,  knowing  that  is  all  it  is  to 
the  average  white  onlooker ;  but  it  should  be  borne 
in  mind  that,  to  the  Indian,  it  is  a  solemn  and 
religious  rite — the  public  denouement  of  a  nine- 
days'  secretly-conducted  intercession  for  the  divine 
favour.  It  is  in  the  snake  element  that  the 
attraction  centres;  for  there  are  countless  other 

203 


204        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

public  dances  in  Moqui  which,  to  the  casual  visi 
tor,  would  be  even  more  picturesque  and  pleas 
ing  as  spectacles  than  this ;  but  hardly  any  white 
person  sees  them. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that,  at  one  time, 
Snake  Ceremonies  were  a  part  of  the  religious  rites 
among  all  the  pueblos;  but,  at  this  date,  the  ob 
servance  is  confined  to  five  or  six  of  the  Hopi 
towns.  It  is  an  annual  ceremony,  but  all  villages 
do  not  hold  it  the  same  year.  The  most  elaborate 
presentations  are  at  Walpi  and  Oraibi,  occurring 
on  alternate  years — at  Walpi  on  the  uneven  years, 

1911,  1913,  etc.,  and  at  Oraibi  on  the  even  years, 

1912,  1914,  etc.     The  specific  day  of  the  month 
varies,  being  determined  afresh  each  year  by  some 
secret  sacerdotal  formula   that  keeps  the  white 
man  guessing  until  the  priests  descend  to  their 
underground  rites  in  the  kivas  or  council  rooms, 
which  always  begin  nine  days  before  the  public 
dance  with  the  serpents.     The  railroad  company 
arranges  to  be  posted  as  to  this  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment,  and  to  its  agents  one  should  apply 
for  information  respecting  the  exact  date  of  the 
dance,    which    one    may    be   reasonably    certain 
will  not  be  earlier  than  August  tenth  nor  later  than 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       205 

August  twenty-fifth.  It  takes  place  just  before 
sundown  and  consumes  about  thirty-five  minutes. 

So  little  interest  has  the  generality  of  our  people 
in  the  native  home-life  of  our  Indians  that  most 
visitors  time  their  attendance  to  the  one  day  on 
which  the  dance  occurs,  or,  at  most,  from  the 
evening  before  until  the  morning  after.  For 
Sylvia  and  myself,  however,  interesting  as  most 
ceremonies  at  the  pueblos  proved  to  be,  an  even 
greater  interest  attached  to  the  domestic  side  of 
their  life;  and,  keeping  ourselves  as  much  in  the 
background  as  possible,  we  liked  to  watch  the 
village  activities  as  the  preparations  for  the  great 
events  were  carried  busily  forward. 

There  are,  for  instance,  the  moulding  and  burning 
of  pottery  knickknacks — cups  and  little  pitchers, 
ash  trays  and  shaving  mugs — later  to  be  set 
alluringly  in  the  house  windows  to  catch  the  visi 
tors'  eyes;  for  Moqui  has  already  acquired  the 
traders'  trick  of  manufacturing  down  10  the 
buyers'  taste  and  has  been  quick  to  learn  that, 
among  the  tourists  whom  curiosity  brings  to  them, 
there  are  comparatively  few  who  care  enough  and 
know  enough  to  buy  the  beautiful  native  art -ware 
that  conforms  to  Hopi  ideas,  when  they  can  get 


206        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

for  a  picayune  some  useless  gimcrack  made  in  poor 
imitation  of  the  white  man's  utensil.  To  such 
Philistine  sense  is  it  not  "  pretty  good  for  Indian 
work"?  Then,  there  is  a  house-cleaning  indus 
triously  going  on  in  every  home — the  sprinkling 
of  the  floors  with  the  precious  water  from  the 
desert  well  and  the  vigorous  brooming  and  brush 
ing  with  little  grass  whisks.  The  babies  of  the 
household,  in  the  meantime,  are  sent  forth  in  the 
sunshine  on  the  willing  backs  of  larger  sisters  to 
be  out  of  the  way.  Old  men,  sitting  in  sunny 
doorways,  are  mending  cloaks  of  mottled  rabbit- 
skin  and  sewing  up  worn  moccasins;  young  men 
(the  few  that  are  visible,  for  many  are  in  the 
kivas)  are  killing  and  skinning  sheep  and  pegging 
the  skins  out  on  the  rocks  to  dry,  laughing  and 
joking  together  the  while;  girls  are  grinding  meal 
within  doors  in  an  atmosphere  fragrant  with 
crushed  grain,  and  their  mothers  are  making  wafer- 
bread  and  green  corn  pudding;  other  women  are 
plastering  anew  the  fronts  of  their  homes — a 
cherished  privilege  of  Pueblo  women  everywhere; 
burros  come  clattering  along  the  rocks,  laden  with 
fire-wood  from  the  mesa  or  corn  from  far-away 
fields,  and  women  with  water- jars  slung  on  their 


Mealing  stones  on  which  Pueblo  women  grind  their  corn. 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       207 

backs  pass  and  repass  with  noiseless  tread  on 
the  deeply  worn  trail  that  leads  to  the  mesa 
water-holes. 

At  the  open  door  of  a  house  we  paused  to  look 
in  at  two  stout  women  cutting  up  the  meat  of  a 
recently  killed  sheep.  Their  hair  had  lately  been 
washed  in  yucca  suds  and  was  clubbed  up  in  a 
picturesque  topknot  that  stood  upright  and  bobbed 
above  the  forehead.  One  of  them  looked  at  us 
and  said  something  in  her  native  tongue. 

"What  does  she  say?"  we  asked  of  a  young  girl 
with  her  hair  done  up  in  the  squash  blossoms 
that  we  had  often  seen  in  photographs,  and  whom 
we  suspected  of  understanding  English. 

"She  say  she  glad  to  see  you.  Take  seat  and 
sit  down." 

Entering,  we  discovered  another  young  woman 
seated  upon  a  sheepskin  spread  on  the  adobe 
floor  and  surrounded  by  small  pieces  of  unburned 
pottery  upon  which  she  was  painting  designs 
with  a  strip  of  yucca  leaf.  Her  hair  hung  down  in 
strings  and  her  countenance  lacked  the  welcome 
of  the  others.  Her  pottery  was  poor  and  on 
American  models — roosters  and  pigs  mostly. 

"Is  she  your  sister?"  we  asked  of  the  smiling 


208        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

Squash  Blossoms,  who  was  preparing  to  take  her 
position  at  the  mealing  stones  to  resume  the 
grinding  which  our  entrance  had  interrupted. 
She  nodded  brightly. 

"Why  doesn't  she  wear  the  pretty  squash 
blossoms  of  old  times?"  we  asked  reprovingly. 
"We  think  the  squash  blossoms  a  pretty  way 
for  young  women  to  wear  their  hair." 

"Because  she  married  and  must  n't  wear  them 
no  more,"  said  Squash  Blossoms  shyly,  her  smile 
breaking  bounds  into  a  giggle.  Then  she  said 
something  in  Hopi — evidently  a  translation  of 
our  little  sermon — and  all  the  women  laughed 
merrily.  And  so  we  learned  that  squash  blossoms 
stand  for  maidenhood  in  Hopi  symbolism.1 

As  we  rose  to  go,  we  noticed  a  male  figure,  clad 
in  white  man's  attire,  prone  upon  the  floor. 
It  slowly  turned  towards  us,  revealing  the  face  of 
a  young  man  chewing  a  straw.  He  raised  his 
arms,  stretched  them,  and,  thrusting  them  under 
his  head  for  a  pillow,  stared  impudently  at  us. 

1  This  way  of  wearing  the  hair  would  seem  to  have  been  the 
fashion  in  former  times  at  other  pueblos,  also.  Thus  an  old 
Spanish  chronicler,  describing  Zufii  customs  in  Coronado's  time, 
says:  "The  women  wear  their  hair  gathered  about  the  ears 

like  little  wheels." 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE        209 

Without  rising  and  without  preamble,  he  proceeded 
to  catechise  us. 

"Where    you    come    from? — California,    eh?— 
—Whereabouts    California? — You    come    Snake 
Dance? — How   long  you   came?'* — et  cetera  und 
so  wetter. 

"You   have   been   to   school,    haven't   you?" 
we  observed,  when  his  ideas  had  run  out. 

"Sure,"  he  replied  with  a  yawn. 

"Did  you  study  at  Carlisle?" 

"No." 

"Where  then?" 

"Grand  Junction,  Colorado." 

We  pointed  to  the  rooster  and  pig  pottery. 
"Who  taught  her  to  do  that?" 

"Do  what?"  he  asked. 

"To  make  those  miserable  forms  of  animals." 

"Her  brain,  I  guess,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"You  tell  her  not  to  do  that,  but  to  make  the 
beautiful  bowls  and  jars  that  the  old  people  al 
ways  used  to  make.  It  is  not  good  to  make  those 
pigs  and  roosters.  That  is  not  Indian  work- 
it  is  just  copying  Americans." 

The  young  man  yawned  again  and  muttered 
evilly,     "  You  don't  have  to  buy  them." 
14 


210        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

With  which  Parthian  shot,  he  turned  over  on 
his  face. 

We  could  not  but  note  that  this  youth,  gratui 
tously  endowed  by  our  Government  with  the 
education  which  is  expected  to  make  him  an  up 
lifting  influence  among  his  ''benighted  people," 
was  the  only  idle  figure  in  the  busy  home,  and  his 
was  the  only  voice  that  was  unresponsive  to  our 
parting  "  Good-bye. " 

In  all  Moqui  there  is  no  more  picturesque 
setting  for  a  Snake  Dance  than  the  little  plaza 
at  Walpi.  A  wall  of  terraced  houses  shuts 
in  one  entire  side  and  part  of  another.  The 
south  side  is  dominated  by  a  towering  rock, 
spread  out  at  the  summit  like  a  great,  petrified 
mushroom.  Along  the  eastern  edge,  where  there 
is  an  uninterrupted  view  across  the  desert  for  scores 
of  miles,  it  is  but  a  step  into  eternity — a  sheer  drop 
down  the  face  of  a  perpendicular  cliff  to  waiting 
rocks  thirty  or  forty  feet  below.  There  is  no  bar 
rier  of  any  sort  along  this  dizzy  edge,  and  the 
fact  that  spectators  at  the  dance  do  not  back  off 
it,  and  Hopi  children,  at  other  times,  do  not  roll 
over  it,  witnesses  doubtless  to  the  red  gods'  con 
tinued  care  of  Moqui  and  of  Moqui 's  friends. 


Snake  Rock,  Walpi.     "  Boy-af raid-of-the-Camera  " 
and  his  grandmother. 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       211 

Now  and  again,  as  we  rambled  about  Walpi 
in  the  days  preceding  the  dance,  the  solemn, 
chorused  chant  of  priests  would  flow  up  from  the 
underground  kivas  near  the  plaza  and  hold  us 
spellbound.  Down  there  were  the  snakes,  and 
great  was  our  curiosity  to  descend  to  them.  We 
asked  Percy  if  that  were  possible  of  accomplish 
ment;  but  that  astute  son  of  peace  would  not 
encourage  us.  Yes,  people  had  been  down — 
people  from  Washington — to  see  that  everysing 
was  being  done  all  ri',  and  Mr.  Curtis,  the  picture 
man,  he  had  been  down,  yes;  but  it  cost  very 
much  money — seventy  dollar',  he  sought.  Of 
course,  we  might  spoke  to  some  Snake  people; 
but  maybe  we  no  want  to  pay  seventy  dollar'? 

We  certainly  did  not  and,  upon  second  thought, 
we  did  not  feel  easy,  anyhow,  to  attempt,  from 
motives  of  mere  curiosity,  to  force  ourselves 
into  the  midst  of  a  religious  ceremonial  the  par 
ticipants  in  which  plainly  did  not  want  our 
presence.  A  quiet  request,  however,  did  gain  us 
admittance  to  a  kiva  where,  in  the  dim  under 
ground,  illumined  only  by  the  daylight  coming 
through  a  door  in  the  roof,  some  dancers  were 
engaged  in  making  up  for  the  dance,  painting 


212        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

their  cotton  kilts  with  lightning  symbols,  string 
ing  bracelets  and  necklaces  of  shells,  colour 
ing  their  bodies,  and  tying  feathers  in  their  hair. 
No  children  preparing  for  a  party  could  be  more 
garrulous — but  in  whispers  always — or  more  vain, 
as,  each  ornamentation  finished,  its  wearer  showed 
it  off  admiringly  to  a  neighbour  and,  lighting 
a  cigarette,  rested  awhile  before  beginning  on 
another. 

The  day  of  the  Snake  Dance  is  ushered  in  by  an 
early-morning  foot-race  of  young  men,  starting 
at  certain  traditional  points  out  on  the  plain  and 
ending  within  the  pueblo.  As  the  sunrise  tints 
the  desert  mesa  with  red,  the  windows  and  roofs 
of  the  houses  and  the  rim  of  the  mesa  on  which 
the  pueblo  stands  are  crowded  with  eager  spec 
tators,  their  eyes  all  turned  toward  the  north. 
Every  rocky  cape  and  promontory  that  offers 
an  advantageous  view  is  pre-empted  by  Indians 
who,  silhouetted  picturesquely  against  the  blue, 
are  gazing  intently  toward  one  distant  spot  in 
the  desert.  Suddenly  hands  are  shot  up  here 
and  there  and  then  a  shout  from  the  housetops. 
The  runners  are  in  sight — mere  specks  of  brown 
on  the  yellow  plain — a  scattering  band  of  fifteen 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       213 

or  twenty  with  one  lithe  fellow  already  well  in 
the  lead.  In  and  out,  over  and  around  sand 
dunes  and  rocks,  he  runs  like  an  antelope,  now 
plunging  at  full  speed  down  an  arroyo,  then  leaping 
up  its  precipitous  sides  beyond — slowly  here, 
but  still  running,  the  rest  surging  after  him— 
pelted  by  corn  stalks  and  melon  vines,  thrown 
by  laughing  boys  and  girls,  gaily  dressed  and 
painted,  and  jingling  with  bells,  awaiting  the 
runners  among  the  rocks.  The  other  racers 
prove  bad  seconds — all  except  one  who,  by  her 
culean  spurts,  manages  to  get  close  to  the  leader's 
heels  for  a  few  minutes ;  but  the  pace  is  too  much 
for  him  and  he  drops  back  just  as  the  whole  pack, 
now  close  to  the  foot  of  the  mesa,  is  lost  to  view 
under  the  cliffs. 

The  crowd  of  spectators  run  along  the  dizzy 
mesa  edge,  towards  the  south  point  where  the  trails 
from  the  foot  come  up,  in  order  to  catch  first 
sight  of  the  winner  as  he  emerges  from  the' rocks 
below.  There  are  some  minutes  of  suspense,  then 
a  cheer  from  an  excited  American  with  a  flutter 
ing,  red  necktie,  and  the  nude  runner,  glisten 
ing  with  perspiration,  his  head  thrown  back, 
and  his  long  black  hair  borne  splendidly  on  the 


214        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

breeze,  leaps  up  into  the  level  sunbeams.  The 
crowd  falls  back;  there  is  the  click  of  kodaks; 
dogs  bark  and  yelp;  and  Hopi  throats  split  the 
air  with  shouts  of  appreciation  as  the  tense  figure 
bounds  through  the  covered  passageway  that  is 
Walpi's  southern  portal,  flashes  by  the  kivas 
of  the  Antelope  and  Snake  people,  and  disappears 
within  an  open  door.  The  rest  of  the  racers 
follow  at  intervals  of  a  few  minutes,  the  crowd 
breaks  up,  and  everybody  goes  home  to  breakfast. 
It  is  a  busy  day  in  Moqui — this  of  the  Snake 
Dance.  All  the  morning  the  rock-ribbed  streets 
resound  to  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  shuffle  of 
human  feet.  Navajos  come  riding  in  on  their 
tough  little  ponies,  keen  to  trade  their  blankets 
and  silver  trinkets  for  American  dollars  and  rent 
their  horses  for  trips  on  the  trail.  Hopis  from 
other  villages,  some  from  distant  Moenkopi,  have 
urged  their  tired  teams,  drawing  laden,  creaking 
waggons,  with  canvas  tops,  up  the  steep  road 
cut  in  the  mesa's  side,  and  are  hobnobbing  with 
old  friends.  White  visitors  stroll  about,  snapping 
kodaks  in  people's  faces,  inspecting  Hopi  home 
life,  chaffering  for  pottery,  sampling  piki  bread 
and  other  Indian  cookeries,  and  outspokenly 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE        215 

marvelling  at  the  squash  blossoms  of  Hopi  maiden 
hood.  Some  of  the  ladies  have  even  bargained 
with  a  native  hairdresser  to  do  their  hair  in  that 
engaging  fashion  and  are  admired  accordingly. 
The  children  of  the  pueblo  are  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement,  and  are  decked  out  in  gala  attire, 
ranging  all  the  way  from  orthodox  little  squaw 
dresses  of  native  weave  to  flour  sacks  and  Unite.d 
States  flags.  Besides  Hopi  delicacies — principally 
dripping  slices  of  melon — they  are  recipients  of 
candy  from  such  experienced  white  visitors  as  (> 
know  the  value  of  sweetmeats  to  reach  the  In 
dian  heart.  Brother  Sim,  the  photographer  and 
ex-priest  from  Gallup,  who  carries  an  enormous 
camera,  and  whose  rotund  countenance  wears  an 
all-embracing  smile,  has  brought  two  or  three 
buckets  of  candy  in  his  outfit  and,  like  a  mid 
summer  Santa  Claus,  throws  handfuls  of  it  high 
in  the  air  for  the  children  to  scramble  for — he 
meantime  photographing  the  scrimmage. 

As  the  afternoon  shadows  lengthen,  the  air  of 
expectancy  thickens,  and  the  visitors  begin  to 
congregate  about  the  plaza  and  pick  out  their 
seats — a  preference  being  noticeably  shown  by 
many  for  the  roofs  and  upper  stories;  for  rattle- 


216        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

snakes,  like  elephants,  are  poor  climbers.  Pro 
fessional  photographers  and  moving-picture  men 
take  their  places,  and  a  yellow-clad  squad  of 
United  States  troopers,  who  arrived  and  camped 
on  the  plain  last  night,  stroll  in  in  a  blas6  way, 
carbines  on  shoulder  and  toothbrushes  in  their 
hatbands,  and  come  to  a  stand  about  the  Snake 
Rock.  By  five  o'clock  the  outskirts  of  the  lit 
tle  plaza  are  packed  with  expectant  humanity. 
The  housetops  are  a  rainbow  of  colour:  Pueblo 
women,  in  bright,  fiesta  attire;  girls  from  Indian 
schools  in  new-starched  calicos  and  hats  of  the 
latest  Flagstaff  style ;  Navajos  in  brown  velveteen 
shirts  and  red  head-bands ;  a  contingent  of  Ameri 
can  ladies  with  their  escorts  in  corduroy  and 
khaki,  and,  here  and  there,  a  girl  of  the  Golden 
West  type,  in  spurred  riding-boots,  flaming  ban 
danna  neckerchief,  and  Texas  sombrero,  jammed 
down  on  the  back  of  her  head.  About  the  plaza, 
besides  Indians  of  various  sorts,  are  cow-men  with 
long  love-locks  curling  about  their  ears,  cartridge 
belts  around  their  waists,  and  glittering  spurs 
clinking  at  their  high  heels.  There  are  helmet ed 
tourists  from  England,  New  York,  Australia, 
and  Denmark,  and  there  are  enthusiastic  young 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       217 

Easterners  on  a  vacation,  roughing  it  under 
weather-beaten  sombreros  and  marvellous  hat 
bands  and  various  sorts  of  Navajo  adornments — 
bracelets,  silver  rings,  and  wrist-guards.  A  dash 
of  returned  Hopi  students  in  dinky  hats,  some  even 
with  cameras,  and  a  sprinkling  of  Government 
officials  and  teachers  from  territorial  Indian 
schools  help  to  round  out  as  picturesque  and 
motley  an  assembly  as  the  traveller  often  runs 
across  in  America. 

Who  can  do  justice  in  words  to  the  Snake  Dance 
itself?  The  silent,  swinging  entrance  of  the 
priests  in  single  file,  decked  in  a  remarkable  har 
mony  of  sombre  tones,  from  the  copper-coloured 
tuft  of  feathers  in  their  hair  to  the  tawny,  fringed 
moccasins,  relieved  only  by  a  few  lines  and  zig 
zags  of  white  lightning  painted  on  the  semi-nude 
bodies  and  on  the  kilts;  their  rapid  striding  four 
times  around  the  plaza  and  stamping  with  resound 
ing  foot  blows  upon  the  plank  that  symbolises 
Shipapu,  the  entrance  to  the  underground  world; 
the  humming  chant  of  the  Antelope  priests,  ac 
companied  by  rattles,  that  never  ceases  before 
the  leafy  prison  of  the  snakes;  the  mouthing  and 
lightning-like  handling  of  the  writhing  serpents 


2i8        THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE 

by  the  successive  trios  of  celebrants;  the  tossing 
of  the  reptiles  into  a  squirming  pile  within  the 
mystic  circle  of  scattered  meal  outlined  for  them 
at  the  foot  of  the  Dance  Rock;  and  the  final 
act  of  the  priests,  snatching  up  the  snakes  by  the 
handful  and  fleeing  with  them,  some  to  the  north, 
some  to  the  west,  some  to  the  south,  and  some  to 
the  east,  down  the  precipitous  trails  to  the  open 
desert,  there  dropping  them  to  carry  the  people's 
supplications  for  rain  to  the  gods  of  the  waters — 
all  this  without  pause  in  the  movement,  makes 
an  unflagging  crescendo  of  dramatic  action  that 
baffles  description.  Being  a  real  religious  act, 
there  is  no  self-consciousness  on  the  part  of  the 
participants — they  are  not  playing  to  the  galleries ; 
the  activity  of  the  venomous  snakes  makes  that 
impossible,  even  if  the  desire  existed;  and,  from 
start  to  finish,  the  attention  of  the  spectators  is 
tensely  held.  Not  only  is  there  no  levity — hard, 
indeed,  to  subdue  in  an  American  white  crowd — 
but,  on  the  contrary,  one  sometimes  sees  among 
the  more  emotional  onlookers  twitching  faces 
and  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

As  Sylvia  and  I  joined  the  crowd  on  their  way 
down  the  trail  to  the  camps  and  the  horses,  we 


THE  WALPI  SNAKE  DANCE       219 

suddenly  stopped  and  looked  at  each  other, 
struck  with  a  common  thought.  The  perman 
ganate  of  potash — we  had  forgotten  to  bring  it! 
"Is  it  not  too  bad?"  Sylvia  mourned.  "Emily 
was  so  anxious  for  us  to  have  it  with  us,  and, 
of  course,  the  snakes  might  have  bitten  us."1 

1  What  is  the  Snake  Dance  all  about,  you  ask?  It  is  an 
elaborate  invocation  to  the  divinities  of  Moqui,  entrusted  to  the 
serpents,  which,  it  is  believed,  will  convey  the  prayers  to  the  gods 
and  bring  the  blessing  of  rain  in  return.  This  explains  why  the 
snakes  are  never  hurt  by  the  priests.  It  is  also  a  dramatisation 
of  an  ancient  myth  concerning  the  origin  and  early  history  of 
the  Snake  and  Antelope  fraternities — the  two  clans  which  conduct 
the  ceremony.  See  The  Moki  Snake  Dance  by  Walter  Hough, 
for  a  condensed  statement  of  the  snake  legend,  or  J.  Walter 
Fewkes's  detailed  account  in  the  Journal  of  American  Ethnology 
and  Archtzology,  vol.  iv. 


Chapter  XXI 

Of  the  Arts  of  tKe  Pueblos,  Especially  the 
Ceramic. 

C^G  before  the  interloping  Spaniard  and 
the  later  Anglo-Saxon  had  penetrated  into 
their  country,  the  Pueblo  Indians  had 
developed  a  fair  kind  of  civilisation  of  their  o.wn, 
and  with  it  arts  that  were  a  vital  expression  of 
Pueblo  life.  The  wonderful  beauty  of  that  land — 
most  of  it  semi-desert,  and  some  of  it  pure  desert, 
sublime  in  its  colour  and  natural  conformation — 
is  an  inspiration  to  every  artist  who  visits  it, 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  these  dwellers  in  it 
from  prehistoric  times  should  be  an  artist  people, 
working  into  their  various  arts  the  conventions 
of  natural  objects  and  the  symbolism  of  the 
pagan  faith  given  to  their  forefathers  in  the  dawn 
of  time.  Among  such  arts  are  the  weaving  of 
woollen  and  cotton  garments  on  rude  looms  set 
up  in  the  rooms  of  their  homes1;  the  making  of 
1  It  was  from  the  Pueblos  that  the  Navajos,  the  best  known  of 

220 


Xampeyo  of  Tewa  moulding  a  water-jar.     No  wheel  is  ever  used 
by  Pueblo  potters. 

(Copyright  by  A.  C.  Vroman.) 


PUEBLO  ARTS  221 

basketry  of  varied  forms  from  native  plants; 
the  manufacture  of  necklaces  from  beads  wrought 
with  infinite  care  from  shells  broken  up,  ground 
into  disks  by  hand  on  a  wet  stone,  and  pierced 
with  a  curious  pump  drill — an  entirely  different 
art,  by  the  way,  from  the  latter-day  work  of 
the  Plains  tribes,  using  the  glass  beads  of  American 
factories.  Among  the  minor  arts,  too,  I  like  to 
include  the  chipping  of  arrow-points.  This  is 
now  practically  extinct,  since  guns  have  replaced 
the  bow;  but  the  work  of  dead-and-gone  makers 
is  continually  offered  to  visitors  and  forms  a 
feature  in  Pueblo  curio  collections.  A  really 
good  assortment  of  arrow-points  is  a  revelation 
of  the  hidden  beauty  of  stone.  They  are  made  of 
various  minerals — moss  agate,  flint,  chalcedony, 
sardonyx,  lava,  obsidian — and  hold  wonderful 
charm  of  colour.  In  form  they  are  often  exquisite, 
some,  for  small  game,  being  quite  tiny,  but  all 
revealing  in  every  patiently  wrought  line  the 
love  of  an  artist  for  his  art. 

At  the  present  time,  the  Pueblo  art  par  excellence 

our  aboriginal  weavers,  learned  this  art.  Among  the  Pueblos 
to-day  only  the  Hopis  and  Zunis  do  any  all-round  weaving, 
though  sashes  and  chongo  ties  are  woven  in  other  pueblos  as 
well. 


222  PUEBLO  ARTS 

is  pottery-making,  which  is  done  invariably  by 
the  women.  The  form  which  it  takes  is  varied; 
but  principally  water-  and  storage- jars,  canteens, 
bowls,  and  cooking  vessels.  It  is  fashioned  entirely 
by  hand,  no  wheel  or  mechanical  device  being 
employed,  and  in  one  of  the  preceding  chapters 
of  this  book,  the  process  has  been  described  in 
some  detail.  In  the  prehistoric  days  of  Pueblo 
art,  as  evidenced  by  the  pottery  found  in  ancient 
cliff-dwellings,  glazing  was  practised,  but  that  art 
has  been  lost  and  the  modern  Pueblo  ware  is 
unglazed.  In  the  case  of  water-jars,  this  is  a 
distinct  advantage,  as  the  porosity  of  the  vessel 
causes  a  "sweating"  which  tends  to  keep  the 
water  cool. 

The  designs  of  the  Pueblo  pottery  are  a  study 
in  themselves  and  of  exceeding  interest.  They 
are  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter,  and 
being  traditional,  their  significance  may  not 
always  be  understood  by  the  artist  herself.  In 
the  main  they  are  conventionalised  forms  of  certain 
features  of  her  little  world  and  of  the  phenomena 
of  nature — the  mountains,  the  birds,  and  animals, 
the  clouds,  the  falling  rain,  the  wind,  the  lightning- 
flash;  or  of  her  religion — such  as  the  creatures  of 


PUEBLO  ARTS  223 

her  people's  origin  myths,  the  faces  of  the  gods 
of  the  Pueblo  pantheon,  or  the  suggestion  (rarely 
absent  from  the  work  of  the  older  potters)  of 
the  mystic  gateway  of  Shipapu,  through  which  the 
souls  of  the  new-born  enter  this  world  and  the 
spirits  of  the  dead  pass  out  of  it. 

Usually  three  colours — red,  white,  and  black — 
are  employed,  though  occasionally  only  two  are 
used,  and  in  some  few  of  the  pueblos  the  pottery 
is  solid  black  or  solid  red,  unornamented.  In 
the  last-named  pottery  the  dependence  for  beauty 
is  entirely  on  the  grace  and  dignity  of  the  shape. 
Pottery  for  cooking  is  invariably  without  decora 
tion. 

The  accompanying  illustrations  of  Pueblo  pot 
tery  are  from  examples  in  the  writer's  collection, 
bought,  in  many  cases,  directly  from  the  potter 
herself.  As  will  be  noted,  the  work  of  different 
villages  has  characters  of  its  own,  distinguishing 
it  from  the  work  of  others,  yet  has  a  certain 
harmony  with  the  rest  that  holds  all  together  in 
the  bond  of  a  common  art. 

The  collection  of  Moqui  is  almost  entirely  the 
work  of  Nampeyo,  the  most  famous  of  the  Pueblo 
potters,  and  her  daughter.  To  see  Nampeyo 


224  PUEBLO  ARTS 

at  work  is  to  the  art  lover  one  of  the  most  interest 
ing  sights  in  Moqui.  She  is  a  simple-hearted, 
unpretentious  squaw,  who  sits  on  the  floor  of  her 
dwelling  moulding  her  vessels  of  clay  or  adorning 
them  with  her  wonderful  lines,  and  rising  now 
and  then  to  stir  the  mutton  stew  as  it  cooks  upon 
the  fire  or  lift  the  baby  out  of  reach  of  the  flame. 
Though  her  work,  in  the  words  of  Dr.  George 
A.  Dorsey,  "has  gone  far  and  wide  over  the  curio- 
loving  world,"  she  is  apparently  unconscious  that 
her  gift  is  anything  out  of  the  common,  and  has 
all  the  shy  modesty  that  distinguishes  the  women 
of  her  race.  The  Moqui  ware  is  very  distinct 
from  other  Pueblo  pottery,  both  in  form  and 
decoration.  The  most  common  shapes  are  a  low 
flat  bowl  and  a  shallow,  wide-spreading  water-jar, 
both  adorned  with  remarkable  designs  in  red  and 
black  on  a  white  ground — designs  frequently 
suggested  by  the  masks  of  the  Katchinas,  or  dancers 
of  the  Moqui  religious'  ceremonials.  The  best 
Moqui  ware  is  particularly  appealing  in  its  colour, 
the  white  ground  upon  which  the  decoration 
is  laid  being  distinguished  by  a  soft,  creamy  tone, 
flushed  usually  with  red. 

In  marked  contrast  to  the  work  of  Moqui  is 


A  collection  of  Moqui  ware — very  distinct  from  all  other  Pueblo 
pottery  both  in  form  and  decoration. 


"Water-jars  of  San  Ildefonso  and  Cochiti  with  bird  decorations 
symbolical  of  lightness. 


PUEBLO  ARTS  225 

the  pottery  of  Zufii.  A  feature  of  the  Zufii 
decoration  is  the  frequent  incorporation  of  real 
istic  animal  forms  in  the  design — deer,  ducks, 
frogs,  butterflies,  tadpoles.  As  with  the  Moqui 
ware,  the  colours  used  by  the  Zunis  are  custom 
arily  red  and  black  upon  a  white  surface,  but  a 
notable  exception  is  a  red  ware  upon  which  the 
decoration  is  laid  on  in  white.  The  colour  would 
appear  to  be  an  integral  feature  of  any  particu 
lar  form  or  decoration — that  is,  given  a  particular 
design,  it  should  be  painted  on  in  one,  particular 
colour  established  by  tradition.  If  other  colours 
are  wanted,  the  design  must  be  changed! 

Flower  forms  are  rarely  used  by  the  Zufiis, 
though  a  very  striking  design  sometimes  met 
with  is  a  conventionalised  sunflower.  The  potters 
of  Acoma  pueblo,  on  the  contrary,  whose  work 
is  noteworthy  for  its  exceptional  lightness,  have 
made  rather  a  specialty  of  floral  and  leaf  adorn 
ment,  and  some  suggestion  of  plant  life  is  intro 
duced  into  almost  every  design.  This  is  the  more 
remarkable  as  their  town  is  built  upon  a  bare 
rock  that  rises  almost  perpendicularly  three  or 
four  hundred  feet  from  a  great,  sandy  plain— 
a  singularly  barren,  inhospitable  situation  where 
is 


226  PUEBLO  ARTS 

there  is  scarcely  earth  enough  to  afford  a  flower 
a  foothold.  In  the  Indian's  art  work,  however, 
he  loves  to  preserve  the  suggestion  of  that  which  is 
most  dear  and  precious  to  his  poetic  mind;  so, 
from  his  standpoint,  it  is  entirely  fitting  that  the 
leaves  and  flowers  of  the  plain  and  mountain, 
brought  from  a  distance  to  this  rock-founded 
village  of  the  sky  and  employed  in  many  secret, 
religious  rites,  as  well  as  in  the  public  dance  cere 
monials,  should  find  representation  on  the  pottery. 
Intermingled  with  these  on  the  Acoma  ware 
are  the  vertical  or  slanting  parallel  lines,  which 
in  Pueblo  symbolry  represent  the  falling  rain, 
and  the  terraces  and  steps  which  conventionalise 
the  clouds  of  heaven.  A  peculiar,  checker-board 
design  is  also  not  uncommon  in  the  Acoma  work, 
but  its  especial  significance  is  unknown  to  the 
writer.  Bird  forms  were  common  in  the  older 
work  of  the  Acomas,  as  well  as  of  other  Pueblos, 
though  now  less  frequent.  As  a  bird  in  flight  is 
the  embodiment  of  airy  lightness,  the  adornment 
of  the  water  vessels  with  the  pictures  of  birds 
would,  in  the  Indian's  fancy,  add  lightness  to  the 
clay — a  great  desideratum,  as  the  jars,  which 
when  filled  are  borne  upon  the  carriers'  heads, 


Zufri  ware,  a  feature  of  which  is  the  frequent  use  of  animal  forms  in 
the  designs — deer,  frogs,  butterflies,  etc.  The  jar  decorated  in 
curves  and  lines,  depicts,  as  explained  by  the  potter  who  made 
it  for  the  author,  a  pueblo  (blocks  against  which  rest  poles  with 
cross-pieces  representing  ladders)  and  rain  (vertical  lines) 
descending  from  clouds  (arches)  above. 


Black,  lustrous  ware  of  Santa  Clara  and  San  Juan.  The  only 
ornamentation  used  is  a  slight  moulding,  as  along  the  bulging 
edge  of  the  double-necked  jar  in  the  foreground. 


PUEBLO  ARTS  227 

often  contain  a  weight  of  water  equal  to  thirty 
pounds  or  more,  and  to  this  the  vessel's  weight 
is  additional. 

At  Santo  Domingo  a  very  superior  grade  of 
Pueblo  pottery  is  made — a  rather  heavy  ware, 
but  one  distinguished  in  many  cases  by  an  almost 
Greek  grace  of  shape.  The  decoration  used  is 
a  series  of  triangles,  circles,  and  other  geometric 
forms  in  black  on  white  that  are  little  short  of 
marvellous  in  their  variety.  The  chalky  white  of 
Zuni  and  the  creamy  white  of  Acoma  are  replaced 
in  the  Santo  Domingo  ware  with  a  pinkish  tint. 
Quite  recently  there  has  been  developed  there  a 
deep  red  jar  with  pink  and  black  decorations, 
extremely  interesting  as  a  variant  of  the  original, 
geometric  designs  of  this  place  in  white  and  black. 

The  Santa  Clara  potters,  until  recently,  were 
pre-eminent  among  the  Pueblos  as  makers  of  a 
lustrous,  black  ware,  the  colour  being  produced 
by  the  smudging  of  the  fire  so  that  the  black 
smoke  was  absorbed  into  the  clay.  The  pot 
was  then  rubbed  by  hand  until  the  desired  lustre 
was  produced.  Unfortunately  American  influ 
ences  have  done  much  of  late  to  lower  the  art 
standards  of  these  people,  who  in  some  instances 


228  PUEBLO  ARTS 

now  use  a  cheap  varnish  for  their  effects.  The 
clay  used  at  this  town  naturally  burns  red,  if 
there  is  no  smudging,  and  Santa  Clara  ware  is 
accordingly  often  to  be  had  in  solid,  unorna- 
mented  red,  as  well  as  black. 

The  neighbouring  Pueblo  town,  San  Juan, 
has  taken  up  the  "black  art"  of  Santa  Clara,  and 
is  conservatively  disposed  to  hold  to  the  tried 
ways  which  made  Santa  Clara's  reputation. 
Their  ware,  however,  still  lacks  the  grace  of  outline 
which  has  long  distinguished  the  Santa  Clara 
pottery.  A  double-necked  water-jar  is  a  charac 
teristic  shape  of  both  those  pueblos,  though  not 
peculiar  to  them,  as  some  form  of  double  mouth 
appears  to  have  been  made  at  times  by  other 
pueblos.  As  the  two  mouths  are  joined  by  a  bar, 
convenience  in  handling  may  have  had  something 
to  do  with  this  shape.  The  San  Juan  pottery  is 
thin  and  light,  and  it  will  be  interesting  to  see 
whether  it  will  eventually  gain  the  crown  of 
excellence  which  Santa  Clara,  because  of  too  much 
American  kindergartening,  has  lost. 

A  rougher  black  ware  used  in  cooking  at  Taos, 
Picuris,  and  Nambe  represents  another  sort  of 
Pueblo  art.  Where  the  proper  kind  of  clay  is  not 


Water-jars  of  Acoma.  The  prevalent  designs  are  suggested  by  flower 
and  leaf  forms.  The  older  potters  often  introduced  figures  of 
birds,  as  in  the  upper  right-hand  jar,  symbolising  lightness. 


Water-jars  of  Santo  Domingo.  This  ware  is  distinguished  by  an  especial 
grace  of  shape  and  a  remarkable  scheme  of  decoration  in  triangles, 
circles,  and  other  geometric  forms. 


PUEBLO  ARTS  229 

readily  obtainable  near  the  village,  or  where  the 
activities  of  the  people  find  more  congenial  exercise 
in  other  lines  than  the  potter's,  the  people  are  con 
tent  to  make  only  cooking  vessels,  crude  in  form 
and  bare  of  design,  obtaining  by  trade  from  other 
Pueblos  the  carefully  moulded  and  decorated  ware 
which  is  the  delight  of  every  Pueblo  household. 

Besides  the  commoner  shapes  of  Pueblo  pottery 
employed  in  the  every-day  business  of  the  house 
hold,  there  are  some  forms  especially  designed 
for  use  in  connection  with  religious  ceremonials. 
Among  such  are  the  bowl-like  vessels  for  holding 
the  sacred  meal,  which  is  sprinkled  upon  parti 
cipants  in  religious  rites  and  dances.  In  some  of 
these  ceremonial  pieces  the  rim  is  moulded  to 
represent  ascending  and  descending  steps  sym 
bolising  clouds.  Upon  others  are  painted  forms 
of  frogs,  tadpoles,  or  butterflies — showing  how  im 
portant  a  part  the  element  of  water — that  ever- 
present  need  in  desert  life — plays  in  the  prayers  of 
these  people.  A  characteristic  Zufii  design  is  the 
moulded  form — utilised  as  a  handle — of  Koloo- 
wissi,  the  sacred  serpent  which  in  the  myths  of 
that  people  is  represented  as  having  brought 
seeds  from  the  gods  to  ancient  Zufii. 


230  PUEBLO  ARTS 

Although  this  native  American  art,  thanks  to 
a  few  discriminating  traders  scattered  through 
the  Pueblo  country  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico, 
still  survives  in  its  beauty,  it  bids  fair  to  pass 
out  of  existence  within  another  decade.  The 
quickening  cause  is  to  be  found  in  the  system 
of  American  schooling  which  the  United  States 
Government  compels  the  children  to  accept,  and 
in  which  instruction  in  drawing  is  part  of  a  gen 
eral  educational  scheme.  The  Pueblos  are  a  gen 
tle,  biddable  race,  unconscious  of  the  marvels  of 
their  own  artistic  gifts,  and  in  the  hands  of  a  push 
ing,  inartistic  schoolmistress  from  New  England 
or  the  Middle  West  the  children  produce  feeble 
copies  in  bright-coloured  crayon  of  the  white 
man's  art,  which  their  ignorant  teacher  shows 
with  pride  to  visitors  as  examples  of  "what  an 
Indian  can  do  when  he  is  taught."  Meantime 
such  a  teacher  is  utterly  unappreciative  of  the 
superiority  of  the  beautiful  examples  of  native 
pottery,  gifts  from  her  timid  pupils,  which  gather 
dust  in  corners  of  the  schoolhouse. I  The  natural 

1  The  obtuseness  of  this  kind  of  mind  was  illustrated  in  another 
way  by  an  American  dweller  in  a  district  of  New  Mexico  distant 
from  the  pottery-makers.  He  had  a  beautiful  jar  of  San  Ilde- 


PUEBLO  ARTS  231 

result  of  this  pseudo-education  is  that  the  young 
generation  of  Pueblo  women  are  growing  up  in 
comparative  ignorance  of  the  art  of  their  mothers 
and  of  the  art  symbols  and  traditions  of  their  race. 
The  idea  that  there  is  an  Indian  art  worth  at 
tention  did  get  dimly  into  the  mind  of  a  former 
head  of  the  Government's  Office  of  Indian  Affairs, 
but  such  attempts  as  he  instituted,  with  the  view 
of  condescendingly  fostering  the  art,  have  been 
in  the  hands  of  employes  who  seem  to  be  quite 
incapable  of  intelligently  handling  the  case.  It 
appears  impossible  for  the  average  American  to 
dispossess  himself  of  the  conceit  that  his  nation's 
way  is  the  only  really  correct  way.  It  does  not 
occur  to  him  that  to  Americanise  Pueblo  art  is 
as  absurd  as  to  ask  Japanese  artists  to  learn 
kindergarten  methods.  The  truth  is,  the  Pueblos 
are  to  be  learned  from,  not  taught.  Their  art 
is  the  expression  of  their  nature  and  of  a  long, 
traditional  past,  and  to  set  such  a  people  to 
drawing  copy-book  designs  can  teach  them  no 
thing,  while  it  does  stifle  absolutely  the  real  art 

fonso  make,  which  he  showed  us  admiringly,  with  the  naive 
remark,  "That  must  surely  have  been  done  by  a  girl  who  had 
gone  to  school." 


232  PUEBLO  ARTS 

sense  in  them.  They  are  a  body  of  conservative 
artists,  who  can  be  trusted,  if  not  interfered  with, 
to  develop  in  their  own  way  the  inherited  gift  of 
centuries,  and  to  perpetuate  the  one  native  Amer 
ican  art  of  to-day.  Cannot  the  more  enlightened 
minds  of  the  country  realise  that  the  only  right 
policy  for  this  nation  to  pursue  toward  such  a 
people  is  that  of  "hands  off,"  and  to  begin  it  at 
once  before  the  old  generation  of  potters  is  dead 
and  their  traditions  dead  with  them? 


Chapter  XXII 

Of  tHe    Native    Government  of  tKe  Pueblos,   and 
THeir  Political  Status  vinder  O\»rs. 

TWENTY-SIX  little  republics  in  the  bosom 
of  our  great  republic — that,  in  a  phrase, 
is  the  political  case  of  the  Pueblo  commun 
ities.  Each  is  an'  independent  political  entity, 
and  while,  of  course,  the  authority  of  the  United 
States  is  over  them  all  and  acknowledged  by  all, 
each  prefers  to  manage  its  own  affairs  without 
reference  to  our  Government  or  to  one  another. 
There  is,  however,  no  occasion  for  any  one  else — 
even  the  United  States — to  interfere;  for  the 
Pueblo  governmental  method  is  a  good  one  for 
Pueblos,  and  life  and  property  under  it  are  as  safe 
as  anywhere  in  the  land. 

The  Pueblo  form  of  government  is  essentially 
republican,  but  conjoined  with  a  theocracy,  the 
latter  under  the  headship  of  the  Cacique,  or  Chief 
Priest.  People  who  have  much  to  do  with 

233 


234  NATIVE  GOVERNMENT 

Pueblo  authorities  are  inclined  to  the  view  that 
the  Cacique  is  the  real  power  behind  the  throne; 
or  to  put  it  in  the  picturesque  figure  of  a  Govern 
ment  official  in  Santa  Fe,  that  "the  old  man  holds 
the  trump  card  in  every  deal,  and  the  bunch  goes 
along."  While  this  may  be  so  in  the  case  of 
masterful  minds  in  Caciques,  as  in  the  "bosses"  of 
our  own  political  system,  the  Cacique  is  by  no 
means  officially  a  dictator.  He  is  the  spiritual 
care-taker  of  the  community  and  the  keeper  of 
its  traditions.  He  is  supposed  to  be  able  to  reveal 
the  mind  of  the  Powers  Above,  and  in  order  to 
keep  his  spiritual  perceptions  keen,  he  fasts  and 
undergoes  mortification  of  the  flesh  on  occasion 
for  the  good  of  the  people.  His  term  of  office  is 
for  life,  and  he  educates  an  understudy  to  succeed 
him.  Upon  the  death  of  the  Cacique,  there  is 
usually  a  decent  interregnum  of  a  year  or  more 
before  the  new  incumbent  enters  upon  his 
duties. 

The  executive  department  of  the  government 
consists  of  a  governor,  a  lieutenant-governor  (or 
teniente),  a  war-captain,  an  alguacil  (or  sheriff), 
and  a  few  other  officials — all  elected  annually 
by  the  voice  of  the  people.  The  officials  are 


NATIVE  GOVERNMENT  235 

assisted  in  their  administration  by  a  permanent 
council  of  old  men  or  junta  de  principales — 
in  some  pueblos  these  being  the  ex-governors. 
With  the  Pueblos,  the  elective  office  does  not 
dignify  the  man,  as  with  us;  an  elected  official  is 
a  public  servant,  in  fact,  and  as  such  deserves  no 
particular  reverence.  This  was  a  surprise  to  the 
monarchical  Spanish  pioneers,  who  on  one  oc 
casion  captured  the  war-captain  of  a  pueblo 
and  held  him  as  hostage,  thinking  so  great  an 
official  a  noteworthy  prize;  but  he  was  not — in 
the  Indian  view  he  was  just  one  man.  So  too,  on 
our  first  visit  to  Taos,  when  we  asked  to  see  the 
Governor,  who  was  not  in  his  house,  a  little 
child  was  unceremoniously  despatched  to  fetch 
him,  and  in  quick  time  he  came  without  any 
flourish  of  trumpets  whatsoever.  Sancta  simpli- 
citas,  indeed. 

The  lands  of  each  pueblo  are  held  in  common 
for  all  the  people.  Every  head  of  a  family  makes 
application  for  what  he  needs  to  till,  and  this  is 
set  aside  to  him  while  he  works  it.  Failure  to  use 
it  for  a  certain  period  causes  it  to  revert  to  the 
pueblo,  to  be  parcelled  out  to  a  new  applicant. 
What  each  man  raises  is  his  own,  to  be  carried 


236  NATIVE  GOVERNMENT 

home  to  his  wife ;  and  when  beneath  her  roof,  it 
is  hers  in  trust  for  the  family.  It  is  well  to  bear 
this  in  mind,  if  you  wish  to  make  a  present  of 
eatables  to  a  Pueblo  man.  Once  at  a  certain 
pueblo,  thinking  to  make  a  little  acknowledgment 
to  a  man  who  had  befriended  us,  we  carried  a 
basket  of  fruit  for  him  to  his  home.  We  found  him 
industriously  at  work  by  his  fireside  and  handed 
him  the  fruit  with  a  suitable  speech.  He  took  it, 
rather  sheepishly,  we  thought,  gave  it  a  hungry 
look,  and  passed  it  on  to  his  wife,  who  was  standing 
confidently  by  and  who  promptly  walked  off  with 
it.  The  public  utilities  of  the  pueblo — the  outdoor 
ovens,  the  corrals  for  animals,  the  grazing  lands, 
the  wells,  and  waters — are  enjoyed  in  common; 
but  every  family  dwells  strictly  by  itself  in  its 
own  apartments,  and  lives  of  its  own  industry, 
independently  of  others.  Knowing,  from  past 
experience,  of  the  possibility  of  crop  failures,  it 
is  the  practice  to  hold  over  enough  of  each  crop 
until  the  succeeding  one  is  assured,  and  danger  of 
a  famine  is  past.  If  famine  come,  in  spite  of  all, 
the  Pueblo  starves  along  as  best  he  may  until  he 
can  raise  a  new  crop — dies,  if  must  be,  and  outfits 
for  Shipapu,  but  does  not  beg. 


NATIVE  GOVERNMENT  237 

The  political  status  of  the  Pueblo  Indian  is 
distinctly  different  from  that  of  our  other  native 
races.  He  is  not  a  "ward  of  the  Government," 
but,  from  the  beginning  of  our  authority  over  him, 
a  United  States  citizen.  Under  Mexican  law, 
the  Pueblos  were  citizens  of  the  Republic  of 
Mexico,  and  the  treaty  between  the  United 
States  and  Mexico,  entered  into  at  Guadalupe 
Hidalgo  in  1848,  whereby  the  south-west  terri 
tories  were  ceded  to  this  country,  provided  for 
the  extension  of  those  rights  of  citizenship  under 
our  law.  The  courts  of  New  Mexico  have  several 
times  affirmed  that  the  Pueblos  of  that  territory 
are  citizens  of  the  United  States,  and  had  there 
been  no  special  legislation  to  the  contrary,  their 
right  to  vote  at  general  elections  could  not  have 
been  denied.  Luckily  for  the  Pueblos,  the  exer 
cise  of  such  a  right  was  deemed  inexpedient  and 
the  New  Mexico  Legislative  Assembly  in  1854 
passed  an  Act  excluding  the  Pueblo  Indians  "for 
the  present  and  until  they  shall  be  declared  by 
the  Congress  of  the  United  States  to  have  the 
right,"  from  the  privilege  of  voting,  except  in 
matters  proper  to  their  own  pueblos,  "according 
to  their  ancient  customs." 


238  NATIVE  GOVERNMENT 

Moreover,  the  lands  occupied  by  the  New 
Mexico  Pueblos  are  not  Government  Reserva 
tions,  as  in  the  case  of  other  Indians ;  but  are  the 
Pueblos'  own — originally  by  grants  of  the  Spanish 
crown,  and  later  confirmed  to  them  by  United 
States  patents,  with  some  subsequent  additions, 
in  the  case  of  certain  pueblos,  by  Executive 
order. 

The  Arizona  Pueblos — the  Hopis — have  been 
less  fortunate  in  the  recognition  of  their  political 
status.  Their  lands  are  theirs  only  by  grace  of 
an  Executive  order  of  December  16,  1882,  creating 
the  Moqui  Reservation,  and  judging  by  past 
Indian  history,  the  Hopi  Pueblos  of  Moqui  may 
be  "moved  on"  whenever  enough  white  people 
of  necessary  influence,  who  want  the  land,  say  so. 
At  present,  there  is  a  Government  allotting  agent 
at  work  there,  seeking  to  apportion  lands  to  in 
dividuals  under  the  terms  of  the  general  Allot 
ment  Act  of  Congress.  There  seems  also  a  curious 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  Office  of  Indian 
Affairs  to  exclude  the  Hopis  from  the  class  of 
Pueblo  Indians.  They  were,  up  to  1896,  desig 
nated  in  the  reports  of  the  Indian  Office  as  Moqui 
Pueblos;  but  since  that,  they  figure  therein  shorn 


I 


A  cupid  of  Shimo  rovi.     The  very  small  children  go  unattired 
in  summer  in  Moqui. 


NATIVE  GOVERNMENT  239 

of  their  Pueblo  appendage.  The  Government's 
treatment  of  them  is  practically  as  of  any  Reserv 
ation  Indians  and  their  decadence  is  correspond 
ingly  progressing. 


Chapter  XXIII 

Of  the  Native  Religion  of  the  Pueblos. 

IF  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  which 
forces  itself  upon  the  convictions  of  the 
sympathetic  student  of  American-Indian 
character,  it  is  that  the  Indian  in  his  native  estate 
is  intensely  religious.  To  this  the  Pueblo  is  no 
exception.  His  religion  is  so  ingrained  in  his  being 
that  he  gives  it  up  only  with  life  itself.  It  is  not 
a  matter  of  one  day  in  seven  with  him,  but  of 
every  day.  By  this,  I  do  not  mean  his  devotion 
to  Roman  Catholicism,  to  which  seventeen  out  of 
the  twenty-six  Pueblo  communities  are  nominal 
adherents,  each  with  a  padre  to  confess  and  pay 
tithes  to.  Every  one  who  knows  the  Pueblo 
Indian,  knows  that,  as  a  rule,  so  far  as  his  profes 
sion  of  Christianity  goes,  it  is  his  pastime;  his 
real  religion  is  that  remarkable  system  of  rites 
which  his  fathers  have  delivered  him  as  a  trust 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world,  in  which  he 

240 


NATIVE  RELIGION  241 

finds  an  explanation  satisfactory  to  his  poetic 
mind  of  the  origin  of  his  people  and  the  destiny 
of  the  individual  in  the  world  to  come. 

Of  course,  the.  Pueblo's  pagan  conception  of 
Deity  differs  widely  in  many  particulars  from  that 
of  the  Christian,  yet  in  certain  fundamentals 
of  vital  religion — that  relationship  which  binds 
the  spirit  of  a  man  to  his  Creator — the  Pueblo 
stands  where  all  the  rest  of  us  stand.  There  is, 
for  instance,  an  abiding  sense  of  humanity's  de 
pendence  upon  Higher  Powers,  that  rule  and 
uphold  the  world  and  the  affairs  thereof ;  and  there 
is  faith  in  the  continuance  of  their  ancient  care, 
if  appealed  to.  So  there  is  need  of  prayer  contin 
ually  to  those  Powers,  and  of  thanksgiving  to 
them  for  the  favours  of  life;  and  whether  the 
people  starve  or  feast,  mourn  or  frolic,  labour 
or  idle  in  the  sun,  the  red  gods  of  their  fathers' 
fathers  get  their  due.  It  is  the  childlike  attitude 
towards  the  Lord  of  the  Harvests  and  the  Shaper 
of  Men's  Destinies,  innate  in  all  primitive  races 
but  run  out  of  civilised  ones,  save  as  the  latter 
are  individually  converted  and  born  anew  into  the 
kingdom  of  the  little  child  and  of  God.  There 
is  a  spot  outside  certain  of  the  pueblos — and,  it 

16 


242  NATIVE  RELIGION 

may  be,  of  all — where  every  morning  at  sunrise, 
some  representative  of  the  people  stands  and  offers, 
one  for  all,  an  invocation  to  the  Sun  Father,  and 
scatters  sacred  meal  to  the  six  mystical  regions 
of  the  world,  west,  south,  east,  north,  zenith,  and 
nadir.  Continually  through  the  year  prayers 
are  being  breathed  upon  feathers  selected  from 
various  sorts  of  birds,  according  to  a  fixed  ritual, 
and  bound  to  especially  prepared  sticks  a  few 
inches  long,  and  then  deposited  at  immemorial 
shrines  on  mountain  and  plain  and  by  certain 
sacred  springs.  So  by  a  feather  is  the  prayer 
borne  to  the  ears  of  the  gods. I  The  public  dances, 
which  white  people  find  delight  in  attending  as 
spectacles,  besides  countless  others  to  which 
outsiders  are  not  admitted,  are  with  the  Pueblos 
religious  ceremonies,  in  many  of  which  the  par 
ticipants,  masked  and  fantastically  attired,  repre 
sent  divine  personages  of  the  people's  elaborate 

1  The  sharp  eyes  of  the  early  Spanish  explorers  detected  these 
plumed  prayer  sticks  here  and  there  about  the  pueblos  in  their 
day,  and  wondered  at  them.  Certain  of  them,  cross-shaped, 
are  minutely  described  by  Castaneda,  the  chronicler  of  Coronado's 
expedition.  "It  certainly  seems  to  me,"  he  piously  observes* 
"that  in  some  way  [the  Indians]  must  have  received  some  light 
from  the  cross  of  our  Redeemer  Christ,  and  it  may  have  come 
by  way  of  India,  from  whence  they  proceeded." 


NATIVE  RELIGION  243 

mythology.  Some  are  in  the  nature  of  sacred 
dramas,  akin,  one  may  say,  to  the  mystery  plays 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  when  rendered  in  pueblos 
where  the  white  inroads  are  least,  are  very  im 
pressive,  their  effect  heightened  by  the  chanting 
of  ancient  songs  and  the  accompaniment  of 
gourd  rattles  and  native-made  drums.  Personal 
purification,  fasts,  and  abstinence  attend  these 
ceremonials,  as  well  as  being  precedent  to  them. 

In  the  matter  of  spiritual  belief,  the  Pueblo  is 
an  animist — that  is,  he  holds  to  a  spiritual  essence 
in  all  creation,  even  those  things  which  we  Christ 
ian  folk  call  inanimate,  such  as  trees,  and  rocks, 
and  water,  the  corn  plant  of  his  own  raising,  and 
the  jar  which  his  potter- wife  has  moulded.  He 
believes  in  the  persistence  of  the  spirits  of  all 
these  companions  of  his  earthly  sojourn,  as  well 
as  of  his  own  spirit,  in  an  unseen  world  to  which 
physical  death  is  the  portal.  It  is  not  apparent, 
however,  that  he  regards  that  future  estate  as  one 
of  reward  and  punishment  for  deeds  done  here  in 
the  flesh,  but  rather  as  another  stage  of  life. 

Pagan  as  we  may  call  such  a  faith,  it  has  fos 
tered  in  the  Pueblo  virtues  which  all  the  civilised 
world  applauds  and  very  largely  falls  short  of. 


244  NATIVE  RELIGION 

It  inculcates  kindliness  to  one  another  and 
gentleness  of  speech,  hospitality  to  the  stranger, 
though  an  enemy,  reverence  for  old  age,  truth 
fulness,  obedience  to  parents,  tenderness  to 
childhood,  and  the  bringing  up  of  children,  as  we 
would  say,  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the 
Lord,  as  He  is  dimly  perceived  in  that  polytheistic 
twilight.  It  would  seem  that  that  universal 
grace  of  God,  which  Paul  preached  as  appearing 
to  all  men,  teaching  the  denying  of  ungodliness, 
has  appeared  to  Pueblos,  too.  All  this  was  very 
surprising  to  the  Pueblos'  Spanish  discoverers, 
and  Castaneda,  noting  down  his  observations  in 
Zuni  in  1540,  records  his  belief  that  the  elders 
must  "give  certain  commandments  for  the  people 
to  keep,  for  there  is  no  drunkenness  among  them 
nor  sodomy  nor  sacrifices,1  neither  do  they  eat 
human  flesh,  nor  steal,  but  are  usually  at  work." 
It  is  to  the  credit  of  the  Spanish  guardianship 
of  the  Pueblos  through  three  centuries  and  the 
innate  virility  of  the  native  faith  that  their  moral 
code  is  still  much  as  Coronado  found  it. 

1  Referring  doubtless  to  the  practice  of  human  sacrifices 
among  the  contemporary  Aztecs  of  Old  Mexico.  There  is  no 
evidence  that  the  Pueblos  made  such  sacrifices. 


NATIVE  RELIGION  245 

A  mythology  as  complex  and  fanciful  as  Greece's , 
involving  a  pantheon  as  numerous,  goes  with  the 
native  religion  of  the  Pueblos;  but  the  subject  is 
too  technical  to  be  discussed  here.  Indeed,  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  our  scientific  dwellers 
among  the  Indians,  comparatively  few  of  their 
myths  are  understood.  The  aborigine  is  very 
loath  to  lay  bare  his  inner  heart  to  one  of  alien 
blood,  and  his  religious  beliefs  come  out  only  a 
little  at  a  time  to  sympathetic  friends  who  have 
been  tried  and  found  worthy  of  all  confidence.  A 
suspicion  of  contempt  or  ridicule,  or  even  con 
descension,  is  enough  to  close  his  mouth.  Each 
Pueblo  community  appears  to  have  its  own  body 
of  myths,  accounting  for  its  origin  in  the  world 
and  narrating  its  primitive  wanderings  and  adven 
tures  under  the  care  of  the  gods.  The  stories  of 
origin  differ  markedly,  though  certain  features 
are  common  to  many  of  them,  as  the  Sun  Father 
and  Moon  Mother  of  the  race,  the  creation  of  the 
first  people  in  a  subterranean  world  up  from  which 
they  were  led  by  the  Divine  Ones  through  the 
opening  Shipapu  into  this  world  of  light,  and  the 
part  played  by  the  Twin  Heroes,  or  Gods  of 
War,  in  the  early  affairs  of  men.  The  curious 


246  NATIVE  RELIGION 

are  referred  to  those  delightful  volumes  Zuni  Folk 
Tales,  by  F.  H.  Gushing,  and  Pueblo  Indian  Folk 
Stories,  by  Chas.  F.  Lummis ;  as  well  as  to  the  re 
ports  of  the  American  Bureau  of  Ethnology  for 
more  technical  presentations. 


Chapter  XXIV 

Of  WHat  tKe  United  States  Possesses  in  tKe  Pueblo 
Indian — Being  a  Brief  Summing  Up. 

THE  Pueblo  is  something  more  than  just  an 
Indian.  He  is  something  more  than  pic 
turesque.  He  represents  a  unique  develop 
ment  among  the  aborigines  of  the  United  States 
—a  native-born  civilisation,  or  semi-civilisation, 
if  you  will,  which,  before  the  white  man  stumbled 
upon  it,  embodied  a  settled  habitation  with  a  dis 
tinctive  architecture,  a  stable  form  of  democratic 
government,  a  religious  ritual  free  from  human 
or  animal  sacrifices,  the  practice  of  monogamy, 
the  equality  of  woman,  an  orderly  pursuit  of 
agriculture,  well-developed  arts,  and  the  love  of 
peace.  He  was  our  first  apartment-house  builder 
our  first  irrigationist,  our  first  cotton-spinner,1 

1  A  species  of  cotton  grew  indigenously  in  parts  of  the  Pueblo 
country,  and  before  the  introduction  of  sheep  by  the  Spanish 
the  cotton  fibre  was  used  in  weaving  garments. 

247 


248  SUMMING  UP 

and  his  wife  was  our  first  artist  in  ceramics.  As 
the  Pueblo  was  when  history  discovered  him,  so 
in  essentials  is  he  to-day.  Between  him  and  his 
neighbour,  the  Apache,  for  instance,  there  is  as 
much  difference,  it  has  been  well  said,  as  between 
the  Broadway  merchant  and  the  Bowery  tough. 

Thanks  to  the  literary  habits  of  his  Spanish 
conquerors,  we  possess  of  the  Pueblo  a  more 
complete  historic  record  than  of  any  other  ab 
origine  of  the  United  States;  and  the  labours  of 
our  own  archaeologists  and  ethnologists  have  very 
convincingly  connected  his  ancestry  with  those 
fascinating  monuments  of  a  remote  past,  the  ruined 
cliff  dwellings  of  the  Southwest.  Under  Spanish 
association,  he  added  many  amenities  to  his  way 
of  life; — the  indispensable  burro,  for  instance; 
iron  tools  and  carts;  horses,  sheep,  and  cattle; 
wheat,  grapes,  and  peaches.  He  acquiesced — 
though  at  first  somewhat  rebelliously — in  being 
Roman-Catholicised,  his  complaisant  nature 
hospitably  harbouring  the  new  religion  along  with 
the  old,  which  he  has  never  surrendered.  To 
Spain,  also,  he  owes  his  present  land-titles ;  for  the 
Spanish  Indian  policy  was  in  the  main  one  of 
humanity  and  common-sense,  and  recognising 


Husking  corn  on  a  Zuni  housetop.     Flush  times  for  the  burros. 


SUMMING  UP  249 

the  Pueblo  at  something  like  his  worth,  secured 
to  him  by  royal  grant  sufficient  land  to  maintain 
him  in  his  way  of  life.  "It  is  fortunate,"  says  a 
caustic  historian J  of  the  Pueblo, ' '  that  the  Spaniard 
was  his  brother's  keeper.  Had  the  Pueblo  enjoyed 
sixteenth-century  acquaintance  with  the  Saxon, 
we  should  be  limited  now  to  unearthing  and 
articulating  his  bones." 

As  a  citizen,  the  Pueblo  is  peaceable,  self-sup 
porting,  hospitable,  honest,  and  merry-hearted, 
minding  his  own  business.  His  wife,  who  is  in  no 
sense  an  inferior  but  his  acknowledged  equal, 
owns  the  home  and  is  the  trustee  for  the  family 
of  what  the  house  contains.  Old  age  is  respected 
and  its  counsel  courted.  The  children  are  obedi 
ent,  well-behaved,  and  intensely  beloved,  not  only 
by  parents  but  by  grandparents  and  all  their  kin 2 ; 
they  are  taught  industry  and  obedience  from  the 
beginning  of  their  years,  the  boys  helping  in  the 
farming,  wood-gathering,  herding,  and  hunting; 

1  C.  F.  Lummis  in  The  Land  of  Poco  Tiempo. 

2  Compare  this  with  what  Mrs.  Hugh  Fraser  says  of  Japanese 
childhood  in  her  Letters  from  Japan:     "Little  children  are  called 
the  treasure  flowers  of  life,  and  that  which  ministers  to  their 
happiness  is  never  considered  trivial,  but  regarded  as  a  necessary 
part  of  the  family  occupations."     This  might  have  been  written 
of  the  Pueblo  little  folks. 


250  SUMMING  UP 

the  girls  in  pottery-making,  corn-grinding,  cooking, 
and  other  domestic  vocations.  They  are  taught 
regard  for  one  another,  and  the  care  of  little  folk 
of  eight  or  ten  over  their  younger  brothers  and 
sisters  is  a  touching  trait  to  be  witnessed  in  any 
pueblo  where  white  influence  has  not  rooted  out 
the  aboriginal  virtues. 

The  contemporary  life  of  the  Pueblos  has  been 
invaluable  beyond  words  in  throwing  light  upon 
the  endeavours  of  our  archaeologists  and  ethnolo 
gists  to  explain  the  remarkable  remains  of  pre 
historic  human  life  in  our  great  Southwest.  It 
further  assists  to  an  understanding,  by  the  com 
parative  method,  of  much  that  concerns  the  past 
of  the  human  race  as  a  whole;  for  it  helps  us,  to 
use  the  apt  phrase  of  John  Fiske,  "in  getting 
down  into  the  stone  age  of  human  thought." 

Few  Americans  [says  that  same  sterling  historian] 
realise  how  highly  our  country  is  favoured  in  having 
within  its  limits  such  communities  as  those  of  the 
Moquis  and  Zunis.  Our  land  is  certainly  lacking  in 
such  features  of  human  interest  as  the  ruins  of 
mediaeval  castles  and  Grecian  temples.  But  we  may 
be  to  some  extent  consoled  when  we  reflect  that, 
within  our  broad  domain,  we  have  surviving  rem 
nants  of  a  state  of  society  so  old-fashioned  as  to  make 


SUMMING  UP  251 

that  of  the  Book  of  Genesis  seem  modern  by  com 
parison.  In  some  respects  the  Moquis  and  Zufiis 
may  be  called  half  civilised ;  but  their  turn  of  thought 
is  still  very  primitive.  They  are  peaceful  and  self- 
respecting  people:  and  in  true  refinement  and  be 
haviour  are  far  superior  to  ourselves.  We  have  still 
much  to  learn  from  them  concerning  ancient  society, 
and  we  ought  not  to  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
civilise  them,  especially  if  they  do  not  demand  it  of 
us. 

The  Pueblo,  being  human,  has  his  faults  and 
shortcomings,  of  course.  There  is  room  for  his 
improvement,  just  as  for  yours  and  mine;  but 
the  genius  which  enabled  him  to  work  up  to 
the  plane  of  civilisation  where  Spain  found  him 
and  left  him,  is  still  his,  and  is  quite  capable 
of  solving  his  twentieth-century  problems  in 
the  Pueblo  way.  Unlike  the  Reservation  tribes, 
who  have  been  crowded  off  their  native  land  by 
the  advance  of  white  civilisation,  the  Pueblo's 
foot  is  still  on  his  ancestral  heath,  and  the 
heath  is  capable  of  supporting  him  in  his  ab 
original  way  of  living,  which  to  him  is  a  happy 
way.  The  features  of  that  existence  form  an 
interesting  and  instructive  object-lesson  in  the 
simple  life  for  which  the  soul  of  our  complex 


252  SUMMING  UP 

time  is  crying  out.  His  is  the  last  of  our  indige 
nous  races  which  it  is  now  possible  to  preserve 
in  anything  approaching  its  native  estate ;  and  one 
would  think  it  worth  an  effort  to  conserve  it— 
to  put  up  a  "no  trespass"  sign  on  its  lands  and 
guard  it  from  molestation.  One  would  think  that 
such  a  people  might  be  suffered  to  live  out  its 
destiny  in  its  own  harmless  way  by  this  great 
republic,  which  has  made  much  advertisement 
of  itself  as  standing  for  the  right  of  all  men  to  life, 
liberty,  and  pursuit  of  happiness. 

What  is  really  happening  in  the  matter  is  out' 
lined  in  the  next  chapter. 


Chapter  XXV 

Of  What  Our  Government  is  Doing  witH  the 
Pueblo. 

IN  considering  the  activities  of  the  United 
States  Government  towards  the  Pueblos,  it 
is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  case 
of  the  Pueblos  is  essentially  a  different  one  from 
that  of  the  at  one  time  nomadic  tribes  of  the 
plains  and  forests, — that  is,  the  Reservation  tribes 
of  to-day.  The  latter,  the  red  men  of  Fenimore 
Cooper  and  the  Wild  West  Show,  have  for  gener 
ations  been  gradually  pushed  off  their  native 
hunting-grounds  by  the  ever-advancing  line  of 
the  white  man's  settlements,  have  been  fought  and 
cheated,  bargained  with  and  broken  faith  with, 
until  now  they  are  as  men  without  a  country  in 
surroundings  totally  different  from  those  in  which 
nature  placed  them  and  in  which  nature  fitted 
them  to  live.  That  this  aboriginal  remnant  should 
have  something  done  for  it  by  the  race  that  has 

253 


254      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

crowded  it  off  its  earth  is  just,  and  that  that  some 
thing  should  be  in  the  nature  of  an  education  to 
equip  it  to  cope  with  alien  conditions  of  life  is 
reasonable.  That,  roughly  summed  up,  is  the 
theory  of  the  Government's  educational  policy 
towards  the  Indian,  and  it  is  not  within  the 
province  of  this  book  to  discuss  it  in  practice. 

The  Pueblo  case,  however,  is  not  that  at  all. 
A  sedentary  people,  advanced  in  the  arts  and 
practices  of  a  native  civilisation,  the  Pueblos, 
thanks  to  Spanish  prevision,  have  not  been  dis 
possessed  of  their  lands;  they  still  inhabit  their 
Syrian-like  towns,  that  are  older  than  anything 
of  white  men's  building  on  this  continent,  and 
they  still  till  the  self  same  ground  which  their 
fathers'  fathers  worked  long  ago,  and  which 
is  hallowed  to  them  with  associations  that  reach 
back  to  the  days  when  the  gods  walked  the  earth 
and  the  animals  talked  with  men.  Unlike  the 
Plains  Indians,  whose  main  source  of  livelihood 
was  the  chase  and  who  have  to  be  taught  to  be 
farmers,  the  Pueblos  are  born  agriculturists  who, 
from  inherited  experience,  are  singularly  capable 
of  raising  crops  under  the  exacting  climatic  con 
ditions  of  their  semi-desert  home.  They  have, 


A  man  of  Taos,  in  native  dress.     Sheets  are  worn  in  lieu 
of  blankets  in  warm  weather. 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     255 

of  course,  learned  much  from  their  association  with 
Spaniard  and  Anglo-Saxon;  from  both  they  have 
adopted  improvements,  which  they  apply  in  their 
own  way,  and  they  are  still  in  every  respect  in  a 
position  to  live  out  their  quiet,  useful  lives  after 
the  fashion  of  the  red  nature  which  the  Lord  of 
Life  implanted  in  them.  When  unspoiled  by  too 
much  white  interference,  their  communities  are 
entirely  self-supporting  and  law-abiding,  and  as 
contented  as  humanity  ever  gets  to  be  here  be 
low — the  most  picturesque  and  natural  class  of 
people  in  our  artificial,  dead-level,  dollar-driven 
United  States. 

In  the  mechanical  application  to  the  Pueblos  of 
an  Indian  policy  which  was  framed  for  all  the 
Indians,  the  Government  has — to  give  the  devil 
his  due — done  some  commendable  things.  It  has, 
for  instance,  exempted  the  Pueblo  lands  from 
taxation;  it  has  sought  to  keep  the  whisky-seller 
away  from  the  pueblos;  and  it  undertakes  to 
provide  medical  care  for  the  prevention  of  the 
epidemics  of  such  diseases  as  smallpox,  diph 
theria,  measles,  and  the  like,  which,  more  than 
any  other  one  cause,  nowadays,  keep  down  the 
growth  of  the  population.  On  the  other  hand, 


256      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

however, — and  this  is  the  crux  of  the  case  as 
between  Government  and  Pueblo, — the  Indian 
Office  lumps  the  Pueblo  with  the  rest  of  the  Indians 
and  drops  him  into  the  common  educational 
melting-pot  prepared  by  Congress  for  all  red  men. 
Day  schools  have  been  established  in  most  of 
the  pueblos  and  the  children  are  forced  into  them, 
unless  the  parents  prefer  to  send  them  to  some 
boarding-school.  In  the  more  important  pueblos, 
field  matrons  are  quartered  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  housekeeping  to  the  Pueblo  women, 
who  have  been  skilful  housekeepers  from  the  dawn 
of  time ;  farmers,  also,  are  sent  to  some  to  acquaint 
this  race  of  farmers,  who  have  no  memory  of  a 
time  when  their  ancestors  were  not  farmers  and 
who  practised  irrigation  before  any  one  in  the 
United  States  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing,  how  to 
raise  corn  and  beans. 

At  Santa  Fe,  at  Albuquerque,  at  Black  Rock, 
at  Ream's  Canon,  large  boarding-schools  are 
maintained  and  paid  for  by  the  taxpayers  of  the 
United  States,  where  white  education,  in  part 
literary  and  in  part  industrial,  is  crammed  down 
the  young  Pueblo  throat  in  steam-heated  rooms 
and  in  an  atmosphere  often  foul  to  suffocation. 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES      257 

The  agents  of  more  distant  schools,  as  at  Riverside 
in  California,  Grand  Junction  in  Colorado,  Carlisle 
in  Pennsylvania,  are  busy  in  season  drumming 
up  recruits,  that  their  institutions,  too,  may  have 
part  in  the  same  educational  game.  It  is  the 
boarding-schools,  the  more  distant  from  the  pueblo 
the  better,  that  nearest  meet  the  ideal  of  the 
Indian  educator;  for  thereby  the  child  is  most 
thoroughly  separated  from  his  "tribal  relations' 
and  is  more  perfectly  at  the  mercy  of  the  Great 
White  Father,  who  has  so  benevolently  undertaken 
to  undo  the  Creator's  handiwork  and  turn  these 
"benighted"  red  people  into  white. 

When  you  ask  the  .gentlemen  of  the  Indian 
Office  for  the  reason  of  this  active  onslaught  of 
education,  they  will  doubtless  tell  you,  as  they 
have  told  the  present  writer,  that,  in  its  capacity 
as  a  civilising  agent,  the  Office  has  a  special  edu 
cational  duty  to  discharge  towards  the  children 
of  these  Indians,  who  must  be  prepared  for  the 
future  and  to  adjust  themselves  finally  as  citizens 
to  our  modern  civilisation.  This  statement  ap 
pears  to  be  part  of  the  Office  fixt tires,  passed  down 
from  Commissioner  to  Commissioner  and,  so  far  as 
it  is  not  buncombe,  doubtless  applies  well  enough 
17 


258      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

to  the  Reservation  Indian.  It  is  not  plain,  how 
ever,  that  it  does  fit  the  case  of  the  Pueblo,  who 
is  already  a  citizen,  and  quite  as  well  able  in  his 
pueblo  to  take  care  of  himself  and  be  a  useful 
member  of  society  as  a  Shaker  or  a  Dunkard, 
an  Amishman,  a  Franciscan  friar,  or  any  other 
member  of  a  score  of  peculiar  sects  in  the  United 
States  who  are  given  to  clannishness  of  living  and 
are  freely  conceded  the  right  to  do  so. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Government's  educa 
tional  activities  towards  the  Pueblos  are  making 
practically  to  this  end:  the  destruction  of  the 
characteristic  features  of  a  very  wonderful  and  in 
teresting  communal  life,  racy  of  our  soil,  and  the 
wiping  of  the  Pueblos  as  a  people  out  of  existence. 
Such  a  proceeding  is  not  only  cruel  and  un- 
American,  but  it  is  needless;  for  the  Pueblo  has 
a  very  good  system  of  education  of  his  own, 
though  it  is  not  literary. 

In  the  normal  life  of  the  Pueblo,  the  native 
education  of  the  child  begins  as  soon  as  it  can 
talk,  and  continues  daily  by  precept  and  example 
until  it  is  grown;  for  the  children  are  constant 
companions  of  their  elders,  and  having  no  thought 
but  to  respect  them,  are  constantly  learning 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     259 

from  them.  For  instance,  at  an  age  when  little 
white  girls  are  making  mud  pies,  their  small 
Pueblo  sisters  are  having  just  as  much  enjoyment 
in  learning,  of  their  own  volition,  to  copy  in  clay 
the  beautiful  bowls  and  water- jars  which  their 
potter  mothers  are  experts  in  making.  The  boys 
follow  their  fathers  and  grandfathers  to  the  field, 
and  gather  with  them  in  the  estufas,  or  private 
council  chambers  of  the  men,  and  there  little  by 
little  become  familiar  with  the  ancient  traditions 
of  their  people.  In  the  ceremonial  dances  which 
are  one  of  the  outward  forms  of  worship  practised 
by  the  Pueblos,  boys  and  girls,  sometimes  hardly 
more  than  infants,  take  their  little  parts  with 
earnestness  and  solemnity.  So  by  degrees,  the 
elements  of  the  simple,  sunny,  wholesome  life 
are  acquired  and  the  young  fitted  to  carry  it 
forward,  if  the  Indian  way  is  allowed  to  prevail. 

But,  when  the  Pueblo  children  are  sent  to  the 
white  school,  as  by  hook  and  by  crook  the  Govern 
ment  is  seeing  to  it  that  they  are,  all  this  is  changed 
as  it  is  designed  that  it  should  be.  The  children 
are  being  taken  at  as  near  the  age  of  four  as  they 
can  be  gotten  hold  of,  and  by  being  inhumanly 
kept  away  from  their  parents  as  long  as  possible, 


26o      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

lose,  during  the  most  formative  years  of  their 
life,  the  advantage  of  the  parental  training  and 
companionship.  As  a  nation,  we  have  never 
been  a  success  at  raising  children,  and  certainly 
the  case  of  this  Congressional  fathering  of  the 
Pueblo  youth  has  added  no  lustre  to  our  crown. 
I  have  visited  every  one  of  the  Pueblo  communities 
and  have  lived  in  several  for  longer  or  shorter 
periods,  and  I  can  say  unqualifiedly  that  their 
most  disheartening  feature  to-day  is  furnished 
by  returned  scholars.  One  knows  the  young  men 
of  this  class  by  their  short  hair,  their  slouchy 
ways,  and  their  ill  manners ;  the  girls  are  disposed 
to  indolence,  and  distinguished  by  rats  in  their 
hair  and  peek-a-boo  shirt-waists,  unless  they  have 
resumed  their  native,  comfortable,  and  suitable 
Pueblo  dress. 

The  minds  of  both  sexes,  bright  enough  on  sub 
jects  of  Indian  lore,  are  as  a  rule  slow  to  stupid 
ity  in  matters  of  the  white  man's  curriculum,  and 
it  is  amazing  to  see  how  little  has  really  been 
assimilated  in  the  years  of  labour  which  their 
generally  conscientious  teachers  have  bestowed 
upon  them.  Far  from  "uplifting  their  people" 
—the  favourite  dream  of  their  educators — they 


A  "little  mother"  of  the  pueblo.  It  is  a  duty  of  the  little  Pueblo 
girls  to  attend  their  baby  brothers  and  sisters,  when  the 
parents  are  busy. 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES      261 

are  not  only  lacking  in  initiative,  but  helpless  to 
teach  what  they  have  but  imperfectly  learned, 
and  they  hang  around  the  pueblo,  a  positive  drag 
upon  its  busy  life.  Rare,  indeed,  is  it  to  find  one 
at  all  qualified  to  compete  with  the  white  man 
in  any  walk  of  life  above  that  of  day  labourer; 
while  they  have  lost  irretrievably  years  of  a  native 
education  that  would  really  have  helped  them  in 
the  life  for  which  nature  has  peculiarly  adapted 
them.  Furthermore,  these  educated  ones  are 
often  handicapped  by  a  substantial  start  in 
tuberculosis,  contracted  in  the  confined  life  of 
the  school;  are  more  or  less  pauperised  by  their 
years  of  being  boarded  and  lodged  gratis,  and  are 
pretty  sure  to  be  tinctured  with  an  assortment 
of  white  vices. 

The  lot  of  these  young  people  is,  indeed,  hard. 
Unfitted  by  nature  to  meet  the  keen  competition 
of  the  white  man's  world,  and  unfitted  by  education 
for  the  life  of  the  pueblo,  there  is  nothing  for  them 
but  to  begin  afresh  and  learn  to  live  as  their  fathers 
lived,  or  else  go  to  the  bad  generally.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  some  follow  one  course,  and  some  the  other ; 
but  in  either  case,  the  net  result  of  the  American 
education  to  the  Pueblo  is  a  moral  drop.  The 


262      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

elders  of  the  Pueblos,  knowing  from  hard  experi 
ence  the  inevitable  result,  seek  persistently  to 
keep  their  children  from  the  contamination  of  the 
schools ;  and  in  several  instances  have  run  the  day 
schools  from  the  pueblo.  It  is  to  no  purpose, 
however,  for  the  Government  agents  hunt  down 
the  children  under  the  very  skirts  of  their  mothers, 
and  by  one  argument  or  another  secure  them  and 
pack  them  off  to  the  boarding-schools. 

The  Government — still  regarding  the  Pueblos 
as  ignorant  of  the  conditions  of  a  fixed  life  as 
though  they  were  Apaches  or  Comanches  fresh 
from  the  warpath,  instead  of  the  peaceful,  im 
memorial  town-dwellers  that  they  are — assumes 
furthermore  that  they  need  the  white  point  of 
view  in  their  housekeeping.  Hence  the  field 
matron  referred  to  above.  Her  uplifting  influence 
is  directed  at  the  women  of  the  pueblo,  whom  she 
is  expected  to  instruct  in  the  care  of  the  house, 
personal  cleanliness,  the  adornment  of  the  home, 
the  care  of  the  sick,  and  incidentally  to  brighten 
the  darkness  of  the  " benighted"  by  introducing 
among  the  little  folks  of  the  Pueblos  "the  sports 
of  white  children." 

In   spite   of   some   absurdities   as  regards   the 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     263 

Pueblos  in  the  Government  regulations,  there  is 
some  under  current  of  sense  in  the  field  matron's 
office,  if  it  were  possible  to  have  it  administered 
by  a  woman  of  tact  and  experience,  in  sympathy 
with  Indian  nature;  for  the  need  of  better  know 
ledge  of  some  fundamentals  of  sanitation,  for 
instance,  and  the  care  of  the  sick,  is  a  real  need 
in  the  pueblos.  In  practice,  however,  the  field 
matron  is  a  more  or  less  conscientious  lady  of 
mature  age,  who  may  or  may  not  speak  her 
native  tongue  grammatically,  and  who  has,  as 
likely  as  not,  been  transferred  to  her  pueblo 
from  the  Comanche  Reservation,  or  the  Piutes, 
or  some  other  distant  place,  and  does  not  in  the 
least  know  the  essential  difference  between  such 
tribes  and  the  Pueblos. T 

1  At  a  pueblo  which  the  writer  visited  recently,  he  found  a  field 
matron  of  this  sort  in  charge,  transferred  thither  from  an  Okla 
homa  Reservation.  She  was  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  Pueblo 
manner  of  life,  and  had  from  the  Government  a  printed  blanket 
form  of  instructions,  which,  of  course,  gave  no  hint  of  one  Indian's 
differing  from  another.  The  lady  was  low  in  her  spirits  as  to 
the  transfer.  "They  won't  talk  any  English  to  me  hardly," 
she  complained  of  her  new  charges,  "and  I  don't  know  any  more 
Spanish  than  a  goat."  To  a  Pueblo  man  who  came  in  to  do  some 
sewing  on  a  sewing-machine,  she  granted  permission,  but  added 
very  distinctly,  so  he  could  catch  the  full  import,  "And  if  you 
break  that  machine,  brother,  I  11  string  you  up  by  the  neck." 
It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  her  bite  would  have  been  as  bad 


264      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

Finding  the  Pueblo  women  leisurely  with  their 
work  instead  of  rushing  about  it  like  victims  of 
Americanitis,  such  an  official  sets  them  down  as 
lazy;  and  because  their  dress  bears  the  stain  of 
the  prevailing  dust  of  the  Southwest,  they  are, 
in  her  eyes,  dirty.  So,  perfectly  convinced  that 
Pueblo  women  are  as  "benighted"  as  the  authori 
ties  in  Washington  think  they  are,  she  proceeds 
to  revolutionise  the  Pueblo  household. 

Take  the  matter  of  cooking,  for  instance :  The 
Pueblo  woman  has  inherited  from  her  forbears 
a  really  admirable  system  of  cookery,  which, 
if  the  baking-powder  and  cheap  coffee  of  the 
border  whites  can  be  kept  out  of  it,  produces 
results  which  are  both  simple  and  nutritious. 
There  are  in  most  households  two  meals  a  day, 
breakfast  about  ten  or  eleven  in  the  morning, 
and  supper  or  dinner  about  sunset  or  later, 
after  the  labours  of  the  day  are  concluded.  These 
meals  are  prepared  in  four  principal  ways: 

First:  In  the  open  fireplace  which  is  an 
essential  feature  of  the  Pueblo  living-room. 


as  her  bark,  but  it  seems  hardly  needful  to  comment  upon  the 
"uplifting  influence"  of  such  association  upon  a  sensitive, 
amiable  race  like  the  Pueblos. 


§  i 

^  oj 

<u  ,_ 

rl  GJ 

H  > 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     265 

Here  all  stews  are  set  to  simmer  and  beans  to 
cook  in  a  clay  cooking-pot  of  native  make.  This 
fireplace  serves  further  the  double  purpose  of 
insuring  good  ventilation  in  the  room,  and  of 
providing  a  means  always  at  hand  of  doing  away 
with  scraps  and  dirt,  which  the  Pueblo  housewife 
many  times  a  day  sweeps  with  her  broom  of  dried 
grasses  into  the  blaze  of  the  hearth. 

Secondly:  Upon  a  large,  flat  stone  resting  on 
four  short  ones  and  heated  by  a  fire  beneath, 
she  bakes  as  upon  a  griddle  the  wafer  bread  of 
cornmeal  and  water,  known  variously  as  piki, 
hewe,  or  wa-yah'-vi.  Folded  in  packets  or  rolled 
into  sticks,  this  is  a  staple  of  Pueblo  diet,  sweet 
to  the  taste  and  not  excelled  in  digestibility  by 
the  twice-baked  breads  of  our  modern  hospitals. 

Thirdly:  In  the  New  Mexico  pueblos,  the 
dome-shaped,  adobe  bake-ovens  are  a  striking 
feature,  built  always  outdoors,  either  in  front 
of  the  house  or  on  the  roof.  This  makes  it  im 
perative  for  the  housewife  to  be  in  the  health- 
giving  air  during  the  entire  time  of  heating  the 
oven  and  baking  the  bread.  In  these  ovens 
yeast -risen  wheat  bread  is  baked  in  an  even 
heat  with  the  thoroughness  that  distinguished 


266      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

the  loaves  which  our  grandmothers  baked  in 
their  great  brick  ovens. 

Fourthly:  In  the  Arizona  pueblos,  there  is  a 
permanent  pit,  sunk  to  the  depth  of  a  couple  of 
feet  in  the  ground  near  the  house.  In  this 
the  housewife  builds  a  hot  fire,  and  when  the  sides 
and  bottoms  of  the  pit  are  thoroughly  heated, 
she  takes  out  the  embers,  sets  a  vessel  within 
filled  with  cornmeal  batter,  covers  the  mouth  of 
the  pit  with  a  flat  stone,  seals  it  up  with  adobe 
mud,  and  leaves  it  for  hours.  The  result  is  a 
thoroughly  cooked,  nutritious  mush,  prepared 
exactly  on  the  theory  of  the  fireless  cooker  of 
our  civilisation.  No  better  system  could  be 
desired. 

The  culinary  methods  above  described  serve 
two  noteworthy  ends — they  insure  wholesome, 
thorough  cooking,  and  they  conserve  that  open- 
air  life  essential  to  Indian  well-being,  which  ex 
istence  in  permanent  towns  is  prone  to  curtail. 

Now,  what  generally  happens  when  a  field 
matron,  acting  under  orders  from  Washington, 
gets  under  way,  is  the  introduction  of  the  American 
cook-stove — an  article  in  every  way  unsuited 
to  that  land  whose  almost  perpetual  sunshine 


Pueblo  women  baking  wheaten  bread  at  the  outdoor  ovens. 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     267 

is  ever  calling  to  life  under  the  sky.  Then  the 
Pueblo  woman  closes  up  her  indoor  fireplace, 
abandons  her  outdoor  cooking-pit,  kindles  a 
furious  fire  in  her  new  stove  indoors,  and  puts  into 
the  oven  a  quantity  of  bread,  which  scorches  on 
the  outside  while  still  underdone  in  the  middle. 
Upon  this  she  feeds  her  family,  as  well  as  with 
other  dyspeptic  matters,  which  are  sure  to  follow 
under  the  tuition  of  the  dyspeptic  nation  which 
has  undertaken  the  uplifting  of  the  "benighted" 
Pueblos.  The  continually  close  air,  following 
upon  the  overheating  of  the  room  and  the  clos 
ing  up  of  the  self -ventilating  fireplace,  develops 
coughs  and  colds.  Expectoration  is  on  the  floor, 
which  remains  unswept  longer  now  that  there  is 
no  convenient  fireplace  to  brush  litter  into,  and 
consumption  enters.  So  the  national  work  of 
"civilising"  the  Indian  out  of  existence  is  helped 
along. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  the  cook-stove  episode  at 
considerable  length,  because  it  affords  a  concrete 
instance  of  what  is  persistently  ignored  by  our 
nation,  namely,  the  fact  that  the  Pueblo  Indians 
have  as  systematically  developed  a  domestic 
economy  as  we  ourselves  have;  one  which  is 


268      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

peculiarly  fitted  to  their  nature  and  environment ; 
and  one  to  which  white  interference  is  distinctly 
prejudicial,  besides  being  impertinent. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  cooking  is  true  of 
other  innovations  which  are  stupidly  being  forced 
upon  the  Pueblos  by  our  Government.  Their 
distinctive  dress,  for  instance,  is  as  picturesque 
as  that  of  the  Swiss  peasantry ;  but  it  has,  besides 
picturesqueness,  a  side  of  comfort  and  especial 
adaptation  to  the  people's  habit  of  life,  not  so 
apparent,  until  studied.  It  is  really  scientific 
in  its  looseness  and  openness,  which  besides 
allowing  the  free  play  of  the  limbs  in  exercise, 
admits  between  the  body  and  clothing,  in  a  way 
that  our  dress  does  not,  the  circulation  of  that 
wonderful  south-western  air  to  whose  cleansing 
and  antiseptic  qualities  the  Indian  largely  owes 
his  health.  Yet  white  agencies  are  too  dense  to 
understand  this,  and  must  needs  treat  the  Pueblo 
as  though  he  were  clothed  in  the  conventional  G 
string  and  paint  of  savagery.  His  dress  must  be 
Americanised,  and  the  beginning  is  with  the 
children,  who,  as  fast  as  they  are  rounded  up  in 
the  schools,  have  their  hair  shorn,  and  their  bodies 
divested  of  Pueblo  garb  and  are  all  put  into 


A  little  maid  of  Taos  in  native  attire. 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     269 

variously  fitting  abominations,  including  under 
clothing,  of  the  one  and  only  civilisation.  In  a 
community  without  bathtubs  and  laundries, 
living  in  a  country  where  rain  is  the  rarest  of 
Heaven's  gifts,  is  it  any  wonder  that  the  result  of 
such  sartorial  revolution  is  a  degree  of  uncleanness 
both  of  body  and  clothing  never  known  under  the 
native  regime,  and  at  times  unspeakable?  There 
would  be  some  sense  in  encouraging  neatness  and 
cleanliness  in  the  native  dress  where  laxity  was 
apparent,  but  there  is  none  at  all  in  abolishing 
that  perfectly  adequate  native  attire  for  another 
designed  for  a  people  of  other  traditions,  living 
under  different  conditions. 

In  every  other  instance  which  I  have  seen  of 
the  attempt  to  make  this  people's  customs  con 
form  to  white  standards,  the  result  is  equally 
detrimental.  Assuming  that  there  is  only  one 
right  way  and  that  is  our  way,  we  have  taken  it 
for  granted  that  these  communities  are  undis 
ciplined  savages  and,  knowing  nothing,  must  be 
taught  what  is  good  for  them. 

Nobody  better  understands  the  fundamental 
error  of  this  than  the  Government  employes  at 
the  pueblos,  when  they  think  for  themselves. 


270      GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES 

Of  course  it  is  their  business  to  carry  out  the 
Department  regulations;  but,  time  and  time 
again,  I  have  heard  them  deprecate  the  policy  of 
sending  teachers  to  a  people  like  the  Pueblos, 
who  are  already  as  good  citizens  as  their  neigh 
bour  whites.  "Yet,"  they  add,  "what  can  we 
do  about  it?  The  work  means  our  bread  and 
butter." 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  chapter  to  advocate 
holding  back  any  Indians  who  really  desire  to 
participate  in  the  white  man's  education.  Now 
and  then  one  finds  a  Pueblo  whose  native  bent 
is  such  as  to  enable  him  to  assimilate  something 
from  our  present-day  American  civilisation,  just 
as  generations  ago  his  ancestors  adopted  somewhat 
from  their  Spanish  conquerors'  mode  of  life. 
While  it  is  the  present  writer's  conviction,  based 
on  observation,  that  even  in  such  cases  what  the 
man  loses  in  his  lapse  from  native  ways  is  greater 
than  his  gain,  yet  to  such  an  one  he  would  cordially 
say,  "Go  ahead,  and  if  you  can  find  anything  to 
your  liking,  in  jumpers  and  overalls  and  cowhide 
brogans,  in  simplified  spelling  and  in  ability  to 
read  about  the  latest  murder  in  Chicago  or  the 
graft  cases  in  San  Francisco,  and  if  with  this 


GOVERNMENTAL  ACTIVITIES     271 

equipment  you  think  you  can  beat  the  white  man 
at  his  own  trade,  for  goodness'  sake  go  to  school 
and  be  educated. "  The  plea  made  is  solely  for 
those — and  they  are  the  large  majority — who  do 
not  desire  this  whitewash  on  their  red  skin,  who 
protest  vehemently  against  being  trained  as  white 
men  when  the  Lord  created  them  red  for  ever 
more,  and  yet  on  whom  the  United  States 
Government  is  sedulously  forcing  an  education 
which  in  practical  results  experience  shows  to  be 
productive  of  more  harm  to  the  Pueblo  than 
good — an  education  which  too  often  sharpens 
the  young  people's  wits  at  the  expense  of  their 
morals,  so  that  they  even  overreach  their  parents. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  old  people  resist  the 
schools? 


Chapter  XXVI 

Of  tKe  Future  of  the  Pueblo,  if  He  Has  Any. 

IF  the  Pueblo  Indian  has  a  future,  it  rests  with 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  people  of  the  United 
States  to  assure  it  to  him.  New  Mexico  and 
Arizona  ought  to  do  it,  but  they  are  too  busy 
with  mining  and  sheep-herding  to  bother  about 
an  Indian  who  scalps  nobody  and  steals  no  horses. 
Congress,  as  at  present  enlightened,  cannot  be 
expected  to  do  it;  for  it  is  not  in  evidence  that 
Congress  ever  heard  of  a  Pueblo  Indian.  The 
Indian  Office  will  not  do  it;  for  that  Office  is  a 
machine  grinding  out  a  traditional  cut-and-dried 
policy.1  Strange  Juggernaut  of  our  boasted 

1  "The  Office  appreciates  the  fact  that,  in  their  contact  with 
modern  civilisation,  much  of  the  value  of  the  Pueblos  as  a 
picturesque  factor  in  the  national  life  is  being  sacrificed. 
Regarding  their  ancient  laws  and  customs,  although  in  some 
respects  admirable,  those  which  do  not  coincide  with  the  national 
laws  must  inevitably  give  way.  To  the  older  Indians,  who  cling 
to  these  customs,  this  may  seem  a  hardship,  at  times  bringing 
them  into  more  or  less  conflict  with  the  representatives  of  the 

272 


FUTURE  OF  THE  PUEBLO         273 

free  republicanism,  this  Indian  policy  of  ours! 
Though  our  literature  is  full  of  denunciation  of 
it,  though  ethnologists,  even,  of  the  Government, 
deplore  the  stupidity  of  it,  though  our  text -books 
record  its  inhumanity,  it  goes  stolidly  on  in  its 
deadening  work,  and  our  complacent  nation  clips 
coupons,  goes  to  church,  and  lets  it! 

Yet,  while  the  Indian  betrayed  by  his  Great 
White  Father  at  Washington  and  dispossessed  of 
his  heritage  is  a  stock  figure  of  American  history, 
and  jeremiads  a-plenty  have  been  written  bewail 
ing  an  irrevocable  past  gone  to  judgment,  the 
nation  has,  in  the  Pueblos,  one  last  chance  to  save 
a  fine  remnant  of  aboriginal  life  before  the  whole 
fabric  is  utterly  gone.  The  procedure  is  simplicity 
itself :  Stop  our  education  of  them ;  or,  if  we  must 
teach  something,  let  it  be  only  at  day  schools 

Government.  But  these  matters  are  being  gradually  adjusted 
with  as  much  tact  and  diplomacy  as  is  consistent  with  a  positive 
attitude  towards  the  situation. 

"Thus  the  Office  is  confronted  with  conditions  not  altogether 
of  its  own  making,  and  however  desirable  from  an  aesthetic  point 
of  view  it  might  be  to  maintain  this  quaint,  old,  semi-civilisation 
in  our  midst,  it  is  not  altogether  practicable." 

(From  a  letter  dated  September  29,  1910,  from  F.  H.  Abbott, 
Assistant  Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs,  to  the  author.     This 
may  be  considered   official  notice   that  the   death-warrant  of 
Pueblo  life  has  been  signed.) 
18 


274          FUTURE  OF  THE  PUEBLO 

within  the  pueblo,  in  the  simplest  rudiments 
and  without  interference  in  the  native  ways. 

Coincidently,  the  present  wise  law  of  exemp 
tion  from  taxation  should  be  continued;  for  it 
will  take  a  long  time  for  the  Pueblo  mind,  used 
to  communal  ways,  to  assimilate  the  Caucasian 
theory  of  taxation,  and  meantime  inevitable  de 
linquencies  would  speedily  result  in  the  Sheriff's 
sale  of  every  pueblo  in  the  South- West.  Surely, 
the  country  has  gotten  land  bargains  enough  out 
of  its  aborigines  to  warrant  this  item  of  generosity. 
Moreover,  the  matters  of  medical  supervision 
and  liquor  regulation  should  continue  increasingly 
to  be  of  Government  concern. 

This  will  not  make  good  the  harm  already  done 
to  the  Pueblos,  but  it  will  enable  a  naturally 
capable  and  contented  people  to  work  out  their 
destiny  in  their  natural  way,  which  interferes 
with  that  of  nobody  else.  They  are  a  people 
worth  saving  and  their  arts  are  worth  fostering, 
which,  it  is  to  be  observed,  does  not  mean  Ameri 
canising. 

Unfortunately,  many  of  their  communities  are 
hopelessly  demoralised  by  this  time,  and  can 
only  be  left  to  their  fate;  but  others,  where  a 


FUTURE  OF  THE  PUEBLO         275 

considerable  conservative  element  yet  remains — 
such,  for  instance,  as  the  large  pueblos  of  Zuni, 
Santo  Domingo,  Isleta,  Jemez,  and  Taos  in  New 
Mexico,  and  the  smaller  but  still  virile  Hopi 
villages  of  Shimopovi  and  Hotavila  in  Arizona — 
can  still  be  helped,  if  left  to  the  inherent  strength 
of  their  native  institutions.  Instead  of  consign 
ing  them  to  the  educational  mill  to  be  ground 
away  between  the  upper  and  the  nether  millstones 
of  school-teacher  and  field  matron,  it  would  seem 
a  truer  philanthropy  to  make  easy  for  them  the 
path  of  development  along  native  lines — a  tried 
pathway  on  which  they  had  themselves  started 
before  Washington  took  charge  of  them,  and  upon 
which  they  had  wonderfully  progressed. 

In  that  vast  region  of  sunshine,  desert,  and 
elemental  majesty  where  the  Pueblos  dwell, 
they  supply  a  feature  of  contemporary  human 
interest  unique  in  the  world.  Their  country, 
like  our  National  Parks,  is  already  part  of  our 
nation's  holiday  grounds  and  will  be  increasingly 
so  used.  We  are  intent  enough,  down  there, 
upon  exploring  and  protecting  from  desecration 
the  remains  of  a  remarkable  prehistoric  civilisation 
which  once  flourished  where  the  Pueblos  now  live ; 


276          FUTURE  OF  THE  PUEBLO 

New  Mexico  has  established  a  well  equipped 
Institute  of  Archaeology  and  is  spending  money  to 
maintain  the  crumbling  homes  of  her  ancient 
Cliff  Dwellers;  yet  both  nation  and  state  have 
been  incredibly  blind  to  the  greater  living  wonder 
of  this  Pueblo  race,  which  is  made  up  of  descend 
ants  of  those  vanished  denizens  of  the  cliffs  and 
is  pursuing  to-day,  in  all  essentials,  the  same 
kind  of  life.  While  we  are  thus  busy  conserv 
ing  the  material  evidences  of  humanity  dead  and 
gone,  is  it  not  a  better  work  to  save  a  living  people 
from  extinction? 


.A  Table  of  Approximate  Population  of 
Each  Pueblo  in  191O 

With  the  English   pronunciation    of  its   name  and  its  nearest 
railroad  station. 

A.rizona   Pueblos 


NEAREST  RAILROAD 

POPULATION                              STATION 

FIRST  MESA 

Walpi  (Wol'pee) 

250 

{Winslow,  Ariz.,  80  miles. 

Sichum'ovi 

IOO 

Holbrook,  Ariz.,  90  miles. 

Tewa  (Ta'-wah)  or 

Han'o 

150 

Gallup,  N.  M.,  120  miles. 

SECOND  MESA 

Mishong'novi 

250 

f  Winslow,  Ariz.,   \ 

Shipaul'ovi 

125 

•j          or                  >  90  miles. 

Shimo'povi 

225 

'  Canon  Diablo     ) 

THIRD  MESA 

Oraibi  (Orf'bee) 

(  Winslow,  Ariz.,   \ 

(summer  pueblo 

500 

•j          or                  >  75  miles. 

Moenkop'i) 

(  Canon  Diablo     ) 

Hotavi'la 

400 

f  Winslow,  Ariz.,    } 

•<          or                  >  80  miles. 

Bacabi  (Bah'-ca-bee) 

IOO 

(.  Cafton  Diablo     ) 

Total  population  of 
Arizona  pueblos, 
approximately  2100 


277 


278    POPULATION  OF  EACH  PUEBLO 


J.  L.  Hubbell,  of  Ganado  and  Keam's  Canon, 
Arizona,  gives  the  following  list  of  principal 
Hopi  ceremonies  and  dances  —  the  exact  days  of 
the  month  are  not  fixed: 

November,  New  Fire  Ceremony;  December, 
War  Dance;  January,  Buffalo  Dance;  February, 
Bean  Planting;  March,  "  Mystery  Play";  May, 
Katcina  Dances;  July,  Departure  of  Katcinas; 
August,  Snake,  Antelope,  and  Flute  Dances; 
September,  Basket  Dance;  October,  Basket  and 
Hand-Tablet  Dances. 


New  Mexico  Pueblos 


PRINCIPAL 


Acoma  (Ah'coma) 
(inclusive  of  its 
summer  pueblo, 
Acomi'ta) 


TION 


800 


Cochiti  (Cochi- 
tee') 

Isleta  (Iss-lett'-a) 

Jemez  (Ha'-mess) 
Lagu'na  (including 
six  farming  vil 
lages) 

300 

1000 

500 
1500 

NEAREST  RAILROAD 
STATION. 


Sept.  2       Laguna,  15  miles. 

(McCarty'sfor 
Acomi'ta) 


July  14       Domingo, 
8      Isleta, 


Sept.  19      Laguna. 


10  miles. 


Nov.  12      Bernalillo,        25  miles. 


Nambe  (Nam-ba')        100        Oct.    4  |  ^^       "  ^ 

(  (Santa  F6,        15  miles. 


POPULATION  OF  EACH  PUEBLO   279 

PRINCIPAL 

POPULA 

PUBLIC 

NEAREST   RAILROAD 

TION 

FIESTA 

STATION. 

Picuris     (Pic-oo- 

rees') 

IOO 

Aug.  10 

Embudo, 

20  miles. 

Sandia  (Sandee'-a) 

75 

June  12 

Alameda, 

i  mile. 

Santa  Ana    (Sant- 

an'a) 

200 

July  26 

Bernalillo, 

12  miles. 

Santa  Clara 

250 

Aug.  12 

Espanola, 

2  miles. 

Santo  Domingo 

700 

Aug.    4 

Domingo, 

2  miles. 

San  Felipe  (Fe- 
lee'-pa) 

500 
t 

May    i 

j  Algodones, 
(  Bernalillo, 

3  miles. 
10  miles. 

San  Ildefon'so 

200     i 

Jan.  23 
Sept.  6 

Espanola, 

8  miles. 

San  Juan  (Hwahn) 

500 

June  24 

j  Chamita, 
(  Espanola, 

I  mile. 
6  miles. 

Sia  (See'-a) 

IOO 

Aug.  15 

Bernalillo, 

1  8  miles. 

Taos  (Towss) 

500 

Sept.  30 

Servilleta, 

or  Barranca, 

30  miles. 

Tesuque  (Te-soo'- 
ka) 

Zuni  (Soo'-n  y  e  e, 
Span.-A  m  e  r. ; 
Zoo'-nee,  Amer.) 
(Inclusive  of  its 
summer  pueblos) 


150        Nov.  12     Santa  Fe", 


9  miles. 


1650 


About  Nov. 
30  (different 
each  year)  Gallup, 


40  miles. 


Total  population 
of  New  Mexico 
pueblos,  approx 
imately 


9200 


The  hire  of  a  double  team  and  driver  in  the 
Pueblo  country  is  from  $5  to  $8  a  day,  including 


28o   POPULATION  OF  EACH  PUEBLO 

keep,  and  of  a  saddle  pony  with  saddle  $1.00  per 
day,  exclusive  of  keep. 

For  an  extended  trip  a  good  way  is  to  contract 
with  a  reliable  man  who  knows  Spanish  and  who 
can  cook,  to  supply  team,  covered  waggon,  and 
services  at  a  fixed  rate  per  week  or  per  month 
(a  basis  of  $90  to  $100  per  month  would  be  fair), 
the  traveller  to  pay  additionally  for  the  animals' 
feed  and  the  provisions  for  himself  and  the  man. 
This  plan  permits  stopping  where  one  pleases, 
with  entire  independence  of  local  accommodations, 
which  are  sometimes  exceedingly  primitive  in 
the  Pueblo  land. 

If  one  prefers  horseback  for  a  trip  covering  some 
weeks  and  knows  enough  about  horseflesh  to  take 
the  risk,  it  is  economy  to  purchase  a  pony  and 
saddle  outright.  The  pony  would  cost  from 
$15.00  to  $50.00,  according  to  age,  size,  condition, 
etc.;  a  saddle  and  bridle  from  $20.00  to  $75.00. 
If  bought  with  discretion  and  used  not  too  hard, 
such  an  outfit  could  be  resold  at  the  end  of  the 
trip  at  little  or  no  loss.  After  July  I5th  and  until 
the  beginning  of  winter,  the  cost  of  keep  for  the 
pony  would  not  exceed  twenty-five  or  fifty  cents 
a  day  for  grain  feed,  which  should  be  given  every 


POPULATION  OF  EACH  PUEBLO   281 

day  the  animal  is  being  ridden;  for,  though  wild 
forage  then  is  sufficient  to  take  the  place  of  hay, 
so  much  time  would  be  consumed  grazing  at  night 
where  growth  is  sparse  that,  if  not  grain-fed, 
the  pony  would  not  get  proper  rest.  Scotch  rolled 
oats  is  found  by  many  riders  a  satisfactory  feed 
to  provide.  If  one  travels  in  company,  a  pack 
animal  for  the  baggage  must  be  calculated  upon. 
In  hiring  horses  or  teams  in  a  country  where 
it  is  sometimes  a  day's  travel  between  water-holes, 
and  where  every  man  must  be  his  own  repairer 
of  breaches,  it  is  well  to  remember  the  old  adage 
that  "the  best  is  the  cheapest."  Nowhere  does 
it  pay  better  to  pay  for  responsibility  in  those 
with  whom  you  deal. 


Glossary    and    Pronunciation    of   Span- 
isH-American  and  Indian  Terms 

Adios  (ah-de-ose') ,  adieu. 

Algodones  (al-go-do'-ness) ,  sand  dunes. 

Arro'yo,  bed  of  a  stream,  usually  dry. 

Ban'da,  a  band,  usually  a  folded  handkerchief,  encircling  the  hair. 

Barato  (bar-ah'-to),  cheap. 

Bar  ran 'ca,  a  gully. 

Bueno  (bwa'-no,  Mex.  and  Ind.  wa-no),  good. 

Buenos  dias  (dee-as),  good-morning. 

Cabeza  de  Vaca  (ca-ba'-sa  de  vah'-ca),  cow  head. 

Cabezon  (cab-a-sone') ,  big  head,  the  name  of  a  New  Mexico 

mountain. 

Cacique  (ca-see'-ka),  the  spiritual  chief  in  a  pueblo. 
Cam'po  San'to,  holy  ground,  consecrated  burial-place. 
Cerrillos  (cer-ree'-yose) ,  turquoises. 

Chon'go,  the  clubbed  queue  in  which  Pueblos  wear  their  hair. 
Cibola  (see'-bo-la) ,  old  Spanish  name  for  Zufii. 
Cin'ta,  a  narrow  band  or  ribbon  for  winding  about  the  chongo 

or  side  locks. 

Co'mo  'sta?    How  are  you? 
Compadre  (com-pah'-dra),  lit.,  godfather,  but  used  colloquially 

for  friend  or  brother.     Compra  melo'nes,  compadre?    Will 

you  buy  some  melons,  brother? 
Corral',  an  enclosure,  as  for  cattle. 
Durazno  (doo-rahs'-no),  peach. 
En'tra,  come  in. 
Estufa  (es-too'-fa),  a  special  room,  usually  underground,  where 

meetings  of  Pueblo  men  are  held  and  secret  religious  rites 

performed.     The  word  is  Spanish  for  stove,  or  a  warm  room, 
282 


P  RON  UN  CIA  TION  OF  INDIAN  TERMS  283 


and  was  applied  by  the  Conquistador es  to  such  chambers 

because  of  their  warmth. 

Faja  (fah'-ha),  the  sash  worn  about  the  waist  by  Pueblo  women. 
Frijoles  (free-ho'-les) ,  beans. 
Kiva  (kee'-va),  same  as  estufa — the  Hopi  word. 
Malpais  (mal'-pl),  a  sort  of  volcanic  rock,  used  for  making 

metates. 

Mariana  (man-yah'-na) ,  to-morrow. 
Man'ta,  a  woman's  dress;  lit.,  blanket. 
Mesa  (ma'-sa) ,  tableland,  or  flat-topped  mountain. 
Metate  (metah'-ta),  a  stone  on  which  corn  is  ground. 
Mucho  (moo'-cho),  very;  lit.,  much. 
Mucho  Sabio  (moo'-cho  sah'-bio),  one  who  knows  much,  a  Pueblo 

councillor. 

Navajo  (nav'-a-ho),  a  large  Indian  tribe  adjoining  the  Pueblos. 
Olla  (oh'-ya),  a  water -jar. 
Padre  (pah'-dra),  a  Catholic  priest. 
Pasear  (pah-sa-ar') ,  to  take  a  walk. 
Piki  (pee'-kee),  wafer  bread  (Hopi);  the  same  as  Zufii  he"- we" 

(ha-wa),  and  the  wah-yah'-vi  of  the  Rio  Grande  Pueblos. 
Plazita  (pla-see'-ta),  a  dooryard,  or  interior  court  of  a  residence. 
Po'co,  little;  po-co  ti-emp'o,  in  a  little  while. 
Pueblo  (poo-eb'-lo),  a  town;  when  capitalised,  an  Indian  of  the 

pueblos. 
Puerco    (pwar'-co),    muddy;    whence    the    S.-W.-Amer.    term 

"perky"  for  a  muddy  creek. 

Quien  sabe  (kee-en'  sah'-be),  I  do  not  know;  lit.,  who  knows? 
Quiero  (ke-er'-o),  I  want;  quiere  (ke-er'-a),  you  want. 
Ranchito  (ran-chee'-to),  a  little  farm. 
Real     (ra-al'),    12^    cents.      Eight    of   them    made    the    old 

Spanish  piece  of  eight.     Used  in  multiples  of  two,  as  dos 

(2)  reales,  25  cents;  cuatro  (4)  reales,  50  cents,  etc. 
Retrato  (ra-trah'-to) ,  any  picture;  strictly  a  portrait. 
Sandia  (san-dee'-a) ,  watermelon;  sandia  'uena,  treinte  centavos, 

good  watermelon,  30  cents. 

Shipapu  (ship-a-poo'),  gateway  to  the  next  world. 
Sombrero  (som-bra'-ro),  a  wide-brimmed  hat. 


284  PRONUNCIATION  OF  INDIAN  TERMS 


Teniente  (ten-ee-en'-ta),  lieutenant. 

Tienda  (tee-end'-a),  a  shop  or  store. 

Tinaja  (tin-ah'-ha),  a  water-jar. 

Tombe  (tom'-ba),  an  Indian  drum. 

Tortilla  (tor-tee '-ya)f  a  pancake. 

Tusayan,  (too'say-an)  an  old  Spanish  name  for  Moqui. 

Vamos  (vah'-mos),  begone;  lit.,  let  us  go. 


A  Partial  Pueblo  Bibliography 

The  Pueblos  have  an  important  representation  in 
general  literature.  The  inquiring  reader  will  find 
them  entertainingly  treated  in  the  following  works, 
among  others,  which  have  a  place  in  public  libraries: 

The  Delight  Makers,  by  Adolph  F.  Bandelier,  New 
York,  1890 — a  romance  of  the  Cliff  Dwellers, 
embodying  a  treasury  of  information  about 
Pueblo  native  customs,  by  one  of  the  foremost 
American  ethnologists. 

Pueblo  Indian  Folk  Stories,  by  Charles  F.  Lummis, 
New  York,  1910 — a  delightful  sheaf  of  aboriginal 
tales,  put  into  English  by  one  who  got  them  at 
first  hand;  originally  published  (1894)  under  the 
title  The  Man  who  Married  the  Moon. 

The  Land  of  Poco  Tiempo  (1893),  A  New  Mexico 
David  (1891),  Some  Strange  Corners  of  our  Country 
(1892),  and  A  Tramp  across  the  Continent  (1892) 
— all  by  Charles  F.  Lummis — contain  many  chap 
ters  on  the  Pueblos  and  their  ancestors,  the  Cliff 
Dwellers. 

285 


286  A  PARTIAL  PUEBLO  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  Journey  of  Coronado,  edited  by  George  Parker 
Winship,  New  York,  1904 — a  translation  from 
Spanish  documents  of  the  Conquest,  with  many 
illuminating  notes  by  the  editor.  This  little 
volume  depicts  graphically  the  condition  of  the 
Pueblos,  as  seen  by  those  who  discovered  them. 

Zuni  Folk  Tales,  by  Frank  H.  Gushing,  New  York, 
1901 — a  collection  of  English  translations  by  the 
poet-ethnologist,  who  understood  the  Pueblo 
heart  as,  perhaps,  no  other  white  man  has  ever 
known  it. 

My  Adventures  in  Zuni,  by  the  same  author — three 
delightful  articles  in  the  Century  Magazine,  Dec., 
1882,  Feb.,  May,  1883. 

The  Song  of  the  Ancient  People,  by  Edna  Dean  Proctor, 
Boston,  1893 — a  poem  which,  "as  a  rendering  of 
Moqui-Zuni  thought,  is  a  contribution  of  great 
and  permanent  value  to  American  literature." 
There  are  notes  and  preface  by  John  Fiske,  the 
historian,  and  a  commentary  by  F.  H.  Gushing. 

Indians  of  the  South-West,  by  George  A.  Dorsey — a 
guide-book  issued  in  1903  by  the  Passenger  De 
partment  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe 
Railroad;  a  compendium  of  authoritative  in 
formation  concerning  the  Pueblos,  among  others. 

The  Snake  Dance  of  the  Moquis  of  Arizona,  by  Capt. 
John  G.  Bourke,  U.  S.  A.,  New  York,  1884— 


A  PARTIAL  PUEBLO  BIBLIOGRAPHY  287 

contains  a  vivacious  account  of  the  general 
features  of  Pueblo  life  a  generation  ago. 

Lolami  in  Tusayan,  by  Clara  Kern  Bayliss,  Blooming- 
ton,  111.,  1903 — a  child's  story,  portraying  life  in  a 
Hopi  pueblo  before  the  white  advent. 

Among  the  Pueblo  Indians,  by  Carl  and  Lilian  W. 
Eickemeyer,  New  York,  1895, — an  unpretentious 
travel  tale  of  San  Ildefonso,  Santo  Domingo,  and 
Taos. 

The  Flute  of  the  Gods,  by  Marah  Ellis  Ryan,  New 
York,  1909— an  historical  romance  of  the  Spanish 
Conquest. 

Indian  Love  Letters,  by  Marah  Ellis  Ryan,  Chicago, 
1907 — an  idealistic  presentation,  with  good  local 
colour,  of  the  case  of  a  Hopi  man  educated  in  a 
Government  school  and  "gone  back  to  the 
blanket." 

The  Indians  of  the  Painted  Desert  Region,  by  Geo. 
Wharton  James,  Boston,  1903 — includes  informa 
tion  as  to  Hopi  life  in  recent  years,  with  a  detailed 
account  of  the  Snake  Dance. 

The  Indians'  Book,  by  Natalie  Curtis,  New  York,  1907 
— contains  a  section  devoted  to  the  Pueblos,  with 
the  music  of  a  number  of  their  songs. 

The  Land  of  the  Pueblos,  by  Susan  E.  Wallace,  New 
York,  1888 — a  series  of  pleasant,  old-time,  home 
letters  by  the  wife  of  the  author  of  Ben  Hur. 


288  A  PARTIAL  PUEBLO  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  Destruction  of  our  Indians,  and  three  other  articles 
by  Frederick  I.  Monsen,  with  especial  reference 
to  the  Hopis,  finely  illustrated  from  the  author's 
photographs,  in  The  Craftsman  Magazine  for 
March,  April,  May,  and  June,  1907. 

Indians  of  the  Stone  Houses,  by  Edward  S.  Curtis,  in 
Scribner's  Magazine,  Feb.,  1909,  with  beautiful 
illustrations  from  the  author's  photographs. 

For  the  scientific  student  of  Pueblo  life,  the  available 
material  is  very  extensive.  Mention  may  be  made  of 
the  following  titles  among  many : 

Final  Report  of  Investigations  among  the  Indians  of  the 
South-Western  United  States,  by  Adolph  F.  Bande- 
lier.  Papers  of  the  Archaeological  Institute  of 
America,  1890,  1892. 

The  Zuni  Indians,  by  Matilda  Coxe  Stevenson. 
Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  1905. 

The  Sia,  by  Matilda  Coxe  Stevenson,  embodied  in  the 
Eleventh  Annual  Report  of  the  Bureau  of  Eth 
nology,  Washington,  1889-90. 

The  American  Indian  as  Product  of  Environment,  with 
Especial  Reference  to  the  Pueblos,  by  Arthur  J. 
Fynn,  Boston,  1907. 

The  Gilded  Man,  by  A.  F.  Bandelier,  New  York,  1893 
— includes  historical  papers  on  Zuni,  Acoma, 
Santa  Clara,  etc. 


A  PARTIAL  PUEBLO  BIBLIOGRAPHY  289 

Pottery  of  the  Ancient  Pueblos,  Fourth  Annual  Report, 

Bureau  of  Ethnology,  Washington. 
The  Spanish  Pioneers,  by  Charles  F.  Lummis,  Chicago, 

1893- 

The  Discovery  of  America,  by  John  Fiske,  Boston,  1892 
— touches,  in  the  light  of  modern  ethnology,  on 
the  status  of  the  Pueblos  with  relation  to  other 
Indians  and  to  Old  World  peoples  also. 

The  Spanish  Conquest  of  New  Mexico,  by  W.  W.  H. 
Davis,  Doylestown,  Pa.,  1869 — contains  a  de 
tailed  account  from  original  Spanish  sources  of 
the  conflicts  between  the  Spaniards  and  the 
Pueblos  prior  to  1703. 

The  Traditions  of  the  Hopi,  by  H.  R.  Voth,  Field 
Columbian  Museum  publication,  Chicago,  1905. 

A  Study  of  Pueblo  Architecture  in  Tusayan  and  Cibola, 
by  Victor  Mindeleff,  in  Eighth  Annual  Report, 
Bureau  of  Ethnology,  Washington. 

Zuni  Melodies,  by  Benjamin  Ives  Oilman,  in  Journal 
of  American  Ethnology  and  Archeology,  vol.  i. 

Hopi  Songs,  by  the  same,  in  same  publication,  vol.  v. 

In  addition  to  these,  there  are  scores  of  contribu 
tions,  touching  upon  every  phase  of  Pueblo  life,  by 
trained  scientific  workers,  such  as  Bandelier,  Gushing, 
Dorsey,  Fewkes,  Hodge,  Holmes,  Hough,  McGee, 
Mindeleff,  Stevenson,  etc.,  to  be  found  in  the  bound 

19 


290  A  PARTIAL  PUEBLO  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

volumes  of  the  Reports  of  the  Bureau  of  American 
Ethnology,  the  American  Anthropologist,  the  Scien 
tific  American,  Science,  the  Journal  of  American  Folk- 
Lore,  and  similar  scientific  periodicals. 


U-< 


Id! 

*4     2<z 


Index 

PAGE 

Abiquiu        .........       92 

Acoma          .          .          .          .          .          .  14  et  seq.,  225 

Architecture          .....  5,50,79,101,132 

Arts 85,135,220,231 

Bacabi  .........      194 

Basketry       .........     185 

Bent,  Governor,  murder  of     .          .          .         .         .          .104 

Black  Mesa,  siege  of      .......       90 

Bouquet,  Sefiora   ........       88 

Chamita       .........       92 

Character  of  Pueblos:  Industry,  51,  64,  67,  172;  good  humour, 
39,  40,  51,91;  love  of  home,  58;  love  of  children,  62,  96,  123, 
146,  249;  reticence,  68;  joy  of  life,  73,  183;  peaceableness, 
103,  170;  gentleness,  230;  hospitality,  86,  91,  161,  185,  197; 
conservatism,  102,  184;  naturally  artistic,  231;  dislike  of 
camera,  12,  76,  120,  156 
Cibola,  see  Zufii 
Civilisation,  native         .         .         .         .         .         ,v,  247,  250 

Cliff  Dwellers,  Pueblos'  relationship  to     .          .          .       250, 276 

Cochiti          .          . 79  et  seq. 

Cookery,  Pueblo 145,  1 60,  264 

Dances  .         .         .  9, 65, 107, 203 

Delight  makers     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .108 

Dress 7,  78,  80, 100, 187,  268 

Education,  native 249, 258 

Enchanted  Mesa             .          .          .          ,         .         ,  16,37 

Espafiola .         .  .91 

291 


292  INDEX 


PAGE 

Field  matrons       .         .         .         .         .         .  198, 262 

Fiestas:  San  Esteban,  25  et  seq.;  at  Santo  Domingo,  78;  at  Tesu- 

que,  86;  San  Ger<5nimo,  105  et  seq.     Also  vide  Shalako,  Snake 

Dance 

Government,  native       ......    233  et  seq. 

Government's  (U.  S.)  attitude  towards  Pueblos         .    253  et  seq. 

Hopis 167  et  seq. 

Hotavila       .         .          .         .         .          .184,  192  et  seq.,  275 

Intemperance        .         .         .         .         .         .         .66,95,122 

Isleta 46  et  seq.,  275 

Jemez  .         .          .          .          .          .          .     62  et  seq.,  275 

Laguna 43  et  seq. 

Land  tenure 188,189,235,238 

Mesa  Encantada  .         .         .         .         .         .  16, 37 

Mesa  Huerfana     ........       90 

Mexican  encroachment  ......  88,  90 

Mishongnovi          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .184 

Moenkopi     .........      184 

Moqui  .......      167  et  seq.,  224 

Nambe 87,228 

Nampeyo     .........     223 

Oraibi  ........       184, 192 

Penasco        .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          •      117 

Penitentes    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .115 

Picuris          ........     118  et  seq. 

Plains  Indians,  how  Pueblo  case  differs  from  that  of,    .         iv,  254 
Pojuaque      .........       88 

Political  status  of  Pueblos       .          .          .          .  237,238 

Pope"    .          .  ....     103 

Population  by  pueblos   .         .         .         .         .         .         .277 

Pottery,        .          .          .          .85,  93,  122,  142,  207,  222  et  seq. 

Prayer  plumes       .......       151,242 

Puye" .92 


INDEX  293 


PAGE 

Religion,  native     .          .          .      65,119,150,152,153,240^^. 
Rito  de  los  Frijoles .82 

Sanctuario -92 

Sandia .69 

San  Felipe    . 70  et  seq. 

San  Ildefonso 89 

San  Juan .       .         .         .         95, 228 

Santa  Ana -57 

Santa  Clara 92  et  seq.,  227 

Santo  Domingo     .          .          .          .  75  et  seq.,  227,  275 

Scholars,  returned 85,208,217 

School,  U.  S.  Government       .         .          .          186,  230,  256,  273 
Shalako  ceremonies         .          .          .          .         .     140,  153  et  seq. 

Shim6povi    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .       184,275 

Shipaulovi    .........     184 

Sia 59  et  seq. 

Sich6movi     .          ...         .          .          .          .          .       184,  185 

Sierra  Sangre  de  Cristo 91,92 

Snake  dance,  Hopi 203  et  seq. 

Spanish  guardianship     .....         244, 248,  249 

Taos     .  97  et  seq.,  228,  275 

Teachers,  U.  S.  Government    .          .         .60, 119,  151, 190,  230 

Tesuque        .  .          .          ...          .     5  et  seq.,  84  et  seq. 

Tewa  .          .184 

Tiguex  .         .       54 

Truchas,  Las  .         .         .         .                   .         .           91,92 

Tuberculosis  .          .          .         .          .         .          .          .118 

Tusayan       .  .                   .                   .         .         .          .      169 

Walpi  .          .         .         *"*'?••*...       181  et  seq.,  203  et  seq. 
Witchcraft,  belief  in  ...         .         ..     57, 70, 87 

Women,  status  of  ....  128, 145, 236, 249 

Zufii,  discovery  of  .         .         .         .         .          .    125  et  seq. 

Zufii  of  to-day       ....       130  et  seq.,  225,  229,  275 


M69002 


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